For Want of a War
by Gaming Ikari
Summary: Balbanes survives his attempted poisoning to halt the beginnings of a civil war which would have engulfed Ivalice. Too bad this leaves the only true war to be the one fought over Ramza's heart by a plethora of women. Yep, it's FFT done Ranma 1/2-style.
1. Chapter 1

For Want of a War

Chapter 1: Ramza

oOo

It had been a tense day, I reflected. I shrugged off the chain mail hauberk my second-eldest brother had given me for my sixteenth birthday as I entered my chambers.

Delita and I had been included as members of the peace keeping committee which policed the negotiations my brother Zalbag had pushed for. Weigraf Folles himself showed up, alongside his sister and a scattered handful of the less distrustful members of the Death Corps. Myself, Delita, and a few other cadets with a lot of promise from Gariland had been summoned to bolster the guard surrounding the talks at Igros, and we'd found ourselves forced to stare across the room at war-hardened veterans.

Men and women who had not had our training, but certainly eclipsed our experience. I knew Scarlet, the Black Mage in training who copied most of my chemistry notes, was capable of casting a Fira spell, something none of the mages we faced could boast. Yet I knew they'd actually faced life-or-death combat, something our instructors had told us was far more effective at weeding out the weak than any amount of tests or promise.

Yet our abilities had not been put to the test this night.

My father had personally poured the wine for himself and Weigraf, sipping his own drink before the wary man had done the same. The talks had taken hours, but they'd finally concluded late in the evening, my father signing the documents which promised to pay the commoners who'd fought in the war out of his own pocket if Larg refused to do so.

Larg rarely had the audacity to refuse my father anything. Relatively young for his position, he knew that a large amount of the support which he had gained was due to the influence of my family. In him, my father saw something of which he approved, and he made the admiration of the Beoulves aware to anyone he spoke with... And men listened when my father spoke. No matter how outrageous they thought his opinions.

The treaty was affirmed by my father's old friend, Count Orlandu. A man better known by his nickname, the Thunder God Cid. Much like my own father ultimately held the reigns to Larg's rise to power, Orlandu could be said to be the determinator behind Larg's rival, Goltana. Were we to enter into a war, I had my doubts that the balance of power would stay the same... but without that war that few wanted to see, especially after the Fifty Year War being so recently ended, the nobility preferred to look to war heroes like my father or Cid rather than figureheads.

Once the treaty was signed, most of the Death Corps members in attendance had broken into wild cheers. Messengers were sent, and I'm pretty certain I saw tears in the eyes of the dark-haired woman at Weigraf's side, despite the steely-eyed look she'd flashed me the moment she entered the room.

We'd avoided a civil war this night.

Folding my gauntlets neatly on the table where I'd set my chain mail, I unbuckled the sword belt at my waist and laid the fine scimitar my brother Dycedarg had gifted me atop the pile. Sitting on a nearby chair, I folded my legs to unbuckle the greaves that protected me from the knees downward, wiggling my toes as they finally felt air for the first time in nearly a day. I discarded the linen padding which protected my torso from the rough chain mail which had protected me as I rose to my feet, making my way across the room to a recessed door near my bed.

Bastard I may be, but my father made his opinion of any who called me such plain, and the station he insisted I deserved warranted a hot bath ready for me when I retired to my chambers. Servants had done just that: Steaming, rose-scented water rising from a copper tub in the center of a small, tiled room angled so that spilled water drained into a sluice at one end.

I discarded the leather trousers I wore and climbed into the tub with a groan of relief. Even with excellent breeding and extensive training, standing at attention in armor while being prepared to deal with an outbreak of violence at any moment's notice was a tiring affair. I fought the urge to fall asleep as I sank into the tub, merely dozing as the warm water performed its magic on my tired muscles.

The click of the door into my chambers brought me to wakefulness, and I sat up in the tub at the noise. I presumed it to be a servant entering my bedroom proper, perhaps warming the bed for when I exited the bathing chamber. Not something entirely unexpected, but a pleasant surprise after the long day I'd had.

I dunked my hair, vigorously rubbing the water into my hair as I held my breath, purging my golden locks of the sweat and stench of a long day's worth of standing at attention. I broke the water with a light gasp, shaking my head a bit, the excess water flying free.

I grabbed a small towel and began to dry my hair, standing from the tub as I did. By the time I finished, the unseen visitor would have finished with their business and I could retire to my bed and see the end to this day.

I was scrubbing my face when the door to the bath chamber clicked open and a tanned, surprised face framed by chocolate dark hair gaped at my nether regions. The serving girl, a tray with a razor, soap, and a brush, blushed bright red as I stared in shock, the towel held in my hands. With a blush of my own, I dropped back into the tub, forcing the thin linen across my groin despite the barrier of copper between it and her eyes.

"My lord, I'm sorry! I thought you'd like some shaving implements!" She apologized, averting her eyes. I winced. Despite the long day, I had no stubble to shave. In fact, I didn't bother to, yet. Only some feeble whiskers dotted my face. She continued, "I noticed that your bath had none, and..."

We both remained silent for a moment, actively not looking at one another.

"Actually..." I began, blushing and turning my head. It stung my pride to admit it, but my father had stressed that I never lie. "I don't shave. Not yet."

The dusk-skinned serving girl took another look at me, smiling slightly. "So I see. If I may, my lord?" She raised the tray slightly, glancing down at it.

"I'm sure I can handle it!" I insisted quickly, not daring to rise or do anything but try not to look at her.

"My lord, it wouldn't do for you to cut your cheek with the razor. Not with a day like tomorrow on hand," the young woman insisted, taking a slow step forward. She blushed, seeming to flinch back a bit before raising her eyes to meet mine. "Perhaps I could do it for you?"

I thought about it. If I tried it myself, I knew I would cut myself. Zalbag possessed a decade of experience in the matter and he still managed to nick himself here and there, despite the fact he now cultivated a fair amount of facial growth. Attempting to shave the fine whiskers off the edges of my jaw would only lead me to looking like the loser in a fight with a cuar.

"F-Fine," I muttered, sitting forward and leaning my chin out over the edge of the tub.

She came forward, dipping the brush into the water at my side and lathering up a generous amount of foam which she painted my throat and cheeks with. Lightly grasping my chin, she shaved off the light hairs which had sprouted on my face next to my ears. Her grip slid to grasp the left side of my face as the hand holding the razor slid to the right.

The tightening of her hand on my skull was the only warning I had. My hand shot up to grab the wrist of her hand holding the razor, forcing it away.

"Marquis Yarblek, only ten years ago," I noted, and saw her eyes darken as she glared at me. "Found dead in his tub with his throat slit. Did you think nobles didn't learn about tricks assassins use?"

Her hand dropped the razor. I caught her other hand as she attempted to punch me in the face. Standard practice so far. I was quite a bit stronger than her, and, awkward as it might be, I could easily subdue her now that I'd restrained her. She needed to gesture in a specific manner and chant to cast magic, and I was in a position to prevent both.

Which is why the burst of magic which slammed me away from her and displaced most of the water in the tub came as such a surprise.

She was running before I'd recovered, the door slamming shut behind her even as I climbed out of the tub and followed. By the time I got through the door, the only sign of her escape was the open window. Even as I ran to it, I knew she was long gone long before I cast my eyes over the rooftops and saw no sign.

My room burst open, and I dove for my sword before realizing it was Zalbag, blade in hand.

My brother, his face almost always stern, broke into a broad smile at the sight of me fumbling for a sword while naked, still dripping bathwater, and a beard of soap lather running below my jawline from one ear to another.

Some events even the legendary Beoulve stoicism aren't equipped to deal with.

I fumbled between embarrassment and mutual laughter as my older brother collapsed to the floor, cackling like a banshee and pounding the carpet with his fist.

oOo

Author's Notes:

This is basically FFT meets Ranma ½. I saw a Wild Mass Guessing entry on TVTropes and just had to give it a go. This opening chapter was a lot of exposition, basically explaining what's going on in this version of the FFT story and how things have changed. I tried to do it in an interesting way, and I hope I succeeded. The original WMG is as follows:

"**Ramza was due to star in a Harem Anime, bound to wind up like Tenchi or Sena, until the war erupted.  
**The man rescues women left, right, and center and even has a potential Unlucky Childhood Friend or Victorious Childhood Friend in Teta/Tietra. Note that, without the war and everybody in the country going stab-happy, every woman he rescues are people he could have reasonably been expected to meet over the course of his life anyway. He would have met Agrias while she was guarding Ovelia, met Izlude and Meliadoul through Vormav and Dycedarg associating with one another, and probably would have foiled an assassination attempt by Barinten, leading Rafa to fall in love with him in the process."

So... Balbanes being alive and plotting with Orlandu = No War. So the story as a whole is going to be more lighthearted, though of course the Temple Knights who've succumbed to the Lucavi are still up to nefarious shenanigans.

This is basically going to be a lighter and softer take on FFT, with a large, heaping helping of Harem-Anime flavoured comedy poured onto the whole thing. I'm going to keep the sort of stiff, quasi-Propere Englishe tone I had with Purity Amidst Madness while flitting between characters for the first person perspective I'm going to employ each chapter. Check the title (i.e. Chapter 1: Ramza is from Ramza's point of view) if the first two paragraphs confuse you in the future, though I'll do my best to establish things so it's rather plain who's perspective I'm writing is obvious regardless.

Also, writing Rafa as an assassin was strange. And if you didn't notice that the dark-haired, dark-skinned serving girl was Rafa? For shame.

And yeah, I'm going to finish PAM. I just wanted to toss this out there since I'd written it.


	2. Chapter 2

For Want of a War

Chapter 2: Ramza

oOo

Though my room was dark despite the morning, the crowing of a cock awoke me. I sat up, throwing off my blankets as I swung my legs out, my feet barely flinching as they touched the cold floor. I felt miserable for those first moments, but focused on the cold on my feet instead of my wishes for sleep. My father had always told me that getting up with the sun was important, so it was something I tried to do.

I was thankful it was autumn, actually. Without the cold stone floor to focus my attention, I'm pretty sure I would have fallen to my side and succumbed once more to sleep. I stood, making my way to the stand where my gear lay. Standing there, my eyes caught the mirror.

After my attempted assassination and dealing with the guards, I'd realized that, put simply, I'd look like an ass with just my cheeks shaved. It had been fine with whiskers dotting my face all over, but the thin wisps of hair below my jaw only stood out in comparison to my smooth cheeks. That presented a problem when I'd filched some hot water from the bottom of my tub and picked up the assassin's discarded razor.

I figured I handled a larger blade daily and was considered more than proficient in the use of it. How hard could a small razor, meant to be used delicately, be?

I scowled at the scabs which, maddeningly, were still evident in the morning, before sighing and donning my gear. A freshly laundered undershirt for my mail lay at the top of the pile, and after donning it I noticed some cotton trousers tailored to my size, though clearly not the pair I'd worn the day before. I belted them to my waist and donned the rest of my gear, hopping in place a few times to reacquaint myself with the familiar weight and to allow things to settle as they should.

I picked up my scimitar, drawing it briefly to examine it before sticking the sheath through the wide belt which girded my waist.

And thus fortified for the day, I made my way to breakfast.

oOo

The mess was unusually empty for the hour. Not totally, but empty enough. Two Hokuten regulars sat at one table, and I dismissed them. They wouldn't want someone like me breaking my fast with them. The other, however, was the dark-haired woman who'd shot me a hard look at the outset of yesterday's negotiations.

I'd learned from Delita that she was Weigraf's sister. And while we'd signed a treaty yesterday, I didn't think she'd appreciate a noble sitting down and interrupting her morning so soon. I took my plate and pewter mug of milk from the cook, walking towards an empty table when a hand reached out and snagged my elbow.

I glanced down at the glove, before my gaze rose and I met Delita's smiling face. He had a plate of his own, though it looked like he'd picked at it a bit. I wondered how I'd managed to miss him, coming into the mess as I had.

"Glad you're up. Let's go!" He said, stepping ahead and forcing me to follow or spill my breakfast onto the floor.

"Go where?" I demanded, cocking one eyebrow as I followed in his wake. Slightly taller but less broad of shoulder, by craning my neck as he dragged me I could see our destination. Weigraf's sister. I missed a step and Delita merely flashed me a dark grin before continuing, and before I could raise my voice in protest we were looming over the woman with our plates in hand.

"Can I help you?" The dark-haired woman asked, her features hardening as they took in my own. My tongue caught on my throat as I started to protest that we didn't intend to intrude.

"Just wondering if we could join you for breakfast," Delita supplied, oblivious to my thoughts on the matter. Without waiting for an invitation, he placed his breakfast on the table and sat to her right, kicking a chair opposite of her out and leaving me with a clear space to sit. I made no effort to move as my friend added, "I don't think we caught your name, miss...?"

"Miluda Folles, and I don't appreciate eating with nobility," the woman noted curtly, moving to rise.

"Well, perfect!" Delita said with a grin, causing her to pause. He cocked an eyebrow, attempting to convey surprise and failing miserably. "I'm as common as you are, Miluda. Hell, Ramza is a bastard. Barely even a Beoulve."

"Thanks for that," I noted sourly, sitting in defeat. I caught Weigraf's sister's confused gaze as she slowly took me in, perhaps for the first time.

"You're not a noble?" She asked. Her voice sounded... Different. Softer, perhaps.

"I'm treated like one," I admitted, shrugging. Seeing her questioning look and shooting Delita a dirty look of my own, I sighed and continued. "Technically speaking, my father shouldn't even really acknowledge who I am."

"Yet he does," Miluda noted, and I thought then that her voice regained some of its hardness. Certainly it sounded a little bitter.

"For all the good it does him," Delita snorted, flicking a sliver of fried potato into his mouth before continuing, "Ramza's probably the best swordsman at Gariland right now. It's part of why he and I are here instead of back there. Yet you'll notice he doesn't have a silver shield pin denoting a knight training candidate."

I squirmed uncomfortably at this. While it might have been true as far as the other cadets were concerned, I probably couldn't fight the teachers on even ground yet. And part of why I hadn't yet started my knight training was nothing political. It couldn't be.

"They'd discriminate against a Beoulve?" Miluda pondered, smiling a bit. "I thought that your family, as a whole, were practically royalty."

"Oh, we were. Then father declared this one and Alma to be part of the family and now every serving girl from here to Zeltennia is giving father calves eyes and hoping he'll get a Beoulve on them, too," a voice interrupted, and I turned in my seat to find Zalbag grinning down at me. He paused, glancing down at my jawline. "Brother, did you perhaps forget that the razor is for taking off your whiskers and not for the flesh underneath?"

I glared up at him, snarling, "Did you have any plans for your morning spar, Zalbag?"

"Far be it from me to put myself in your way, little brother," Zalbag mused, scratching his goatee briefly. He then smirked. "You might trip and wind up wounding me by accident. God knows you could never do it on purpose."

"I'll see you on the field, then," I promised him viciously.

He merely chuckled, before walking on to sit with the Hokuten knights at the other table. Men who served under him, I presumed.

I turned to find that Miluda was staring, perhaps in wonder.

"That was... Incredibly familiar," she finally concluded, before turning to her breakfast.

"Sibling rivalry is the same, be you noble or common," Delita said with a shrug, yet I caught the wink he tossed me before we went on to eat in silence. After she finished her meal, Miluda quietly excused herself and left.

Yet I caught the wink Delita threw me when she turned back at the door to glance back at us before departing.

oOo

The practice field at Igros was home, for me. Though it was not as familiar to me as the various training halls of Gariland, I had fond memories of this place from the time I was a small child. I remember sitting on one of the low walls surrounding the mix of coarse sand and pebbles which made up the footing for the trainees, watching my father work with his men.

The memories are filled with the scent of sweat and a bit of blood, of the sound of curses and grunts. Closing my eyes, I can almost drift back to that time, and it invigorates me. I pick up the wooden replica of my sword, the edges blunted so that they will bruise instead of slash. I twirled it a few times as I exit the armoury, getting used to the difference in weight between it and my chosen blade.

At the other end of the field I see Zalbag warming up on a veteran Hokuten knight. Though the man is pushing him, I know which of the two will see victory, and it is not the knight my brother faces. Instead, I walk over to Delita, who winces a bit at my approach before nodding in resignation and readying the wooden broadsword he carries.

Although my friend possesses broader shoulders and a better reach, Delita is not ideally suited to be a warrior. He's smart – Far smarter than me, in fact, and that tends to trip him up. He has a habit of over thinking things, especially when he's pressed. It doesn't take me long to disorient him with a flurry of attacks, and before he knows what's coming I've laid him out on the ground.

Despite the welt on his forehead, he grins as he takes my hand and I pull him to his feet.

"You've got dust on your backside," I noted to him with a smirk.

"I've got dust on my everything," my dark-skinned friend commented wryly, wincing a bit as he rubs his head. "Ramza, there are times when I enjoy being your friend. Times like when being at Gariland meant I was given the opportunity to sneak into the female dormitories and see Charity. Now, however, is not one of those times."

I rolled my eyes.

"Delita, we both know that some day, someone is going to want to kill you. Far be it from me to begrudge them the intent, for I feel it quite often while counting myself your friend," I reply, smirking at the scowl. "However, as your friend, it behooves me to ensure that you are prepared to deal with such attempts."

"Behoove away, just try not to bruise the merchandise so much," Delita grunted.

"Father says pain builds both character and reflexes," I informed him, a trifle smugly.

"Your father also says that the barmaids in the city are quite flexible," Delita riposted. From anyone else, this would have been a grave insult to my family and to my father. I might have demanded satisfaction and been forced to leave them a bloody, gasping, apologetic entity on the floor. However, from Delita, this was naught more than a good-natured jab, and I took it as such. Not that I could deny my father had said as much in front of him, anyway.

Our spar over, I noticed that Zalbag had finished with his foe as well. I hadn't fought my brother in nearly six months, and that was six months during which I'd spent my time eating, sleeping, and living through intensive combat training, whilst my brother had been growing dull writing reports on farm productivity and supply lines.

I was curious to see how I would fare this time.

oOo

Author's Notes

This is so much fun to write...

Now, you'll notice that I'm not describing Ramza's fighting abilities as being anywhere near PAM Ramza's, which is appropriate. Right now, Ramza is fresh out of the academy. He's very good, but he hasn't been surviving as a heretic and outcast for four years. Believe me, I'll get him cutting loose sooner or later.

Miluda always struck me as a tragic character in the game. Quite literally, the only reason she's Ramza's enemy is because she wants what she deserves after the war and because he happens to be a Beoulve. Hell, by the time he meets her for the last time, all she wants to do is leave. I hope I handled her appropriately here and changed things for the better.

As for Delita... I'm writing him to be a foil for Ramza. That means Mediator, in my mind. He's going to smooth things out a bit for him, be the diplomat. Hence why he turned the conflict into the start of a friendship, there.


	3. Chapter 3

For Want of a War

Chapter 3: Delita

oOo

I couldn't contain my grin as Ramza tugged on his gauntlets, settling his helm and nervously preparing himself as Zalbag casually limbered up across the way. Despite the fact the practice space was large enough for a dozen such fights, it came as no surprise to me that everyone had stopped what they were doing to form a large circle.

Included in that circle was a woman I recognized. With a casual smile and a wave, I joined her and the few soldiers of the Death Corps who'd shown up to practice. I could see the confusion plain on their faces as to why the Hokuten elite were watching a cadet face off against his older brother, but saw that nobody was willing to inform, or even associate with them.

"So... What's the big deal?" A bulky squire finally asked me, his dark eyes squinting as he glanced between my best friend and his older brother.

"That's simple, my friend. They're Beoulve men," I responded, catching the flash of indignation on Miluda's face as I said it. A similar expression was mirrored on the faces of the three other Death Corps members, and I chuckled. "Oh, it's not because they're nobles. This is Igros. Nobles fight other nobles all the time. Most of the men here can probably lay claim to a high-status lineage of some sort, I imagine."

"Then why is it interesting?" Miluda finally asked, curious.

"They're both the sons of Balbanes Beoulve," I responded. Which is all the explanation I needed, really. It's not lightly that one could call a man like T.G. Cid a rival and have the man reciprocate the statement, but it's something Balbanes had been doing for decades, now. Even to commoners, he and Orlandu were war heroes whose exploits were told in bars far and wide. Of course, even without the need to say it, I added, "And both of them were trained by him personally from a young age. My friends, you're about to see an Ark Knight take a mere squire seriously."

I grinned at the slow excitement dawning on their faces. We turned to watch the fight, noting that both Ramza and Zalbag were ready.

"Do you still have the Angel Ring father gave you, Ramza? I'll try to be careful, but I can't promise you won't use it!" Zalbag called cheerfully, sliding a foot slightly to the left as he readied his practice blade and shield. I grinned as Ramza didn't respond at all, merely charging in.

Anyone else charging against Zalbag like that would have been a fool. The man was far too experienced to be overcome with a charge. Which is probably why Ramza dipped his practice blade into the ground, expertly flicking a dusty clod of dirt and gravel towards Zalbag's eyes a few steps out.

Ramza's older brother had only a second to make a choice: Sidestep the shot and put himself off balance for when Ramza reached him, or raise his shield and lose visibility of his younger brother when Ramza reached him. Either way, Zalbag must have known he would be at a disadvantage.

The youngest legitimate Beoulve chose the former, using his shield to try to bash Ramza off his feet. Ramza had apparently anticipated the move, for his own shield came up and the two collided with a terrific crash, rocking both Beoulves onto one foot as they attempted to maintain their balance. As Ramza's foot came down first despite the wince on his face, I recognized his plan.

While Ramza hadn't been set for the blow and it had probably hurt his shoulder a good deal, his momentum meant that he'd regained his balance first. Zalbag only realized this as both his younger brother's feet were on the ground, and the man knew he was in danger.

He slashed out with his blade while still on one foot, despite the lack of leverage. Ramza was forced to duck, and doing so delayed his own slash long enough for Zalbag to get his shield in the way of the blow. Ramza snarled and stepped in and roughly body-checked the older of the siblings just as Zalbag got his other foot down, and that was the only reason he slid back instead of falling down completely.

"You've gotten better, little brother," Zalbag admitted, rubbing the scale mail over his chest. He tilted his head. "I guess I should start taking you seriously."

"I'm not sure I should be taking you seriously, Zal," my friend replied with a grin, shifting his weight a little as he did so. "That trick wouldn't have worked on you six months ago. Is sitting at a desk instead of on a chocobo making you flabby, brother?"

With a scowl, Ramza's brother went on the offensive, coming in viciously with a series of thrusts and slashed that Ramza, even prepared for it, was very hard-pressed to simply defend, let alone counter. He jumped back in desperation and threw his shield in the way of the hard thrust which actually stripped his shield from his grasp, the forearm strap snapping and the shield clattering at our feet.

The thrust, however, had left Zalbag off balance. Once again, Ramza was quicker to regain his balance. His practice scimitar once again slashed in wildly, and Zalbag's shield caught it. That left him wide open for the punch Ramza drove into his jaw, sending the man stumbling back a few steps and putting my friend on the offensive briefly before a riposte from his brother forced him to briefly disengage.

"Really, Ramza?" Zalbag slurred voice asked, annoyed as he rubbed his jaw. "What the devil makes you think to punch, anyway? I know you haven't qualified for any monk training, yet."

"Mistress Tristana thinks I have talent and has been tutoring me on the side," Ramza informed him smugly, bouncing on his heels. He grinned and bent low, launching himself in a run towards his brother once more.

Zalbag tried a straight thrust, turning to the side and presenting Ramza with only the profile of his body, his shield tucked away. I saw no surprise register on his face when Ramza ducked low at his attack, and groaned to myself as Zalbag's hind foot quickly swept out and took Ramza in the chest, sending him stumbling forward. He planted one hand and rotated on it, turning a sprawl into a neat recovery as he landed on his feet and met Zalbag's counter-charge.

"Tristana always thought it was a waste I never learned from her!" Zalbag yelled as they met, and their blades crossed. Ramza's free hand immediately leapt up to his hilt, allowing him to press down on Zalbag until the older Beoulve threw his shield free to catch the back of his own practice blade on the heavy forearm plates he habitually wore.

Ramza slid a foot back, trying to throw his brother off-balance with a shove as he did so. Zalbag countered by immediately lessening the pressure for a moment, and then thrusting hard himself, forcing Ramza back a foot or two as the dust gave way beneath my friend's feet.

Both brothers had identical grins on their faces.

It's at times like that in which I am very, very glad that Ramza takes it easy on me when we spar. It's not that I'm a bad warrior, but I know that close quarters combat is never something that is going to be a strength of mine. I've got a quick mind, but I lack the instinct required to counter such small changes in stance. Against vicious experts like these, I'd be little more than a brief delay.

Ramza slid in and pressed down, thrusting with his whole body and actually headbutting Zalbag as he did so. This gave him a brief window in which he slashed against Zalbag's practice blade, nearly ripping it from his brother's hand before lifting his sword up once more. The elder Beoulve saw what was coming.

Ramza's blow came down and barely moved Zalbag at all. What should have been a crushing blow instead was as light as a feather. I'm not even certain that the blow or Zalbag moving to retaliate was what caused the shift in the elder Beoulve's position.

Dawning realization came on just as Zalbag's thrust struck Ramza dead centre in the forehead, sending him tumbling off balance. My friend didn't even have time to recover before Zalbag hammered a vicious slash into Ramza's chest. He barely had time to cough as Zalbag kicked him in the stomach before hammering the hilt of his sword onto Ramza's back, sending him face first into the ground.

Ramza groaned as he slowly rolled over, lifting his head to glare at his brother.

"Cheater," my blond friend muttered, spitting out bits of dirt.

"Ark Knight, little brother. The term is Ark Knight," Zalbag said, scratching his chin briefly and glancing off before redirecting his gaze back at Ramza. "Well, I suppose you're a passable warrior. I actually had to use something more than basic swordplay to utterly defeat you, so I suppose next time we spar I'll actually take you seriously."

"I swear I'm going to take geomancer training _just_ to counter that trick," Ramza promised, still laying on his back.

"Yes yes, the nasty Ark Knight robs thee of thine strength, rendering your blows as gentle as the falling snow. I won't apologize for it any more than you would had you actually gotten that dirt into my eyes," Zalbag replied, walking away.

I glanced over at Miluda. A small part of me wondered how long her jaw had been dropped like that before I filed the thought away and began to walk over to my friend.

"You've got dust on your backside," I informed him smugly, smiling down at him for a moment before offering my hand. He took it and I pulled him to his feet, his grin matching my own.

"I've got dust on my everything. Yes yes, Delita... Tables can turn on me. I am aware of this, you know," Ramza said, rolling his eyes. "Let's go. We have a full day ahead of us."

"You know we're both coated in dust,," I told him, pulling him down another path than the one he'd set us on. At his confused look, I continued, "I'm certainly not uncouth enough to go visit my sister still coated in the sweat and dust of my morning spar, and Alma certainly will kill you horribly should you show up in the same condition. We're off to the baths, Ramza."

We'd taken a few dozen steps before Ramza finally spoke.

"I intended to change and brush my hair, you know," he informed me, a little contritely, I thought.

"And we both know that Alma would have noticed anyway," I replied. I glanced back at the Death Corps group and, wonder of wonders, Miluda had finally closed her mouth. Though I did notice that her gaze was squarely upon my blond friend's retreating form.

I glanced at Ramza before grinning to myself and continuing on. I'd have to encourage that one.

The look on Dycedarg's face would be priceless if it panned out. He'd already been vocal enough about disagreeing with the agreement his father had signed. If he had to sit down to dinner with Weigraf Folles himself, he'd probably be positively apoplectic.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Woo, first chapter not from Ramza's perspective! Yeah! Also, I needed to remind you all that I can, and often do, write freaking _awesome_ battle scenes. This was pure filler to get my combat on.

Zalbag kinda had to win that one in the end, even if Ramza won a "victory". Don't worry... Ramza will catch up. Eventually. But this chapter was to show that last chapter, Ramza was sort of toying with Delita. Which sort of pans out in-game, really. Thanks to the poor A.I, by the time Chapter 1 ends Delita will be a half-decent Archer at best, while Ramza could be far ahead of him even WITHOUT level grinding or any random battles. To me that means Ramza's a bit of a fighting prodigy.

Generics? What about them?

-Gaming Ikari


	4. Chapter 4

For Want of a War

Chapter 4: Ramza

oOo

I was nearly asleep when Delita's wet washcloth slapped my chin, hurled from across the room where the other bath was. With an angry, wordless yell I sat up, pulling it from my face to glare at him.

"Ramza, if you fall asleep and drown in the tub, people will hold me responsible," Delita informed me. I threw the rag at his face and he caught it with one hand, dragging it back into the steaming tub with him.

"...And what prevented you from, I don't know, getting out of the tub and waking me?" I demanded, glaring.

"Ramza, stand," my best friend replied. After a moment's hesitation, I did. After only a second or two, the chill of the autumn air on my damp skin, even in the heated baths, was enough to prompt me to sit back in the tub.

"Point proven," I admitted. I scowled as I leaned back in the tub. "You know, I don't think it's fair that you're going to be excluded from the dinner tonight. You were here guarding my father's back with the rest of us cadets. Some of the other people at the dinner are going to BE commoners anyway. Why can't you come?"

Delita sighed, shaking his head.

"Ramza, it's a matter of principal to the event organizers. Nobles on one side, commoners on the other. Your father barely got the invite for you as it is," my dark-haired friend noted, washing his arms. He glanced over to me. "Even Balbanes couldn't override Larg for me as well. Not on a matter of state such as this."

"It's still unfair," I grunted, splashing water onto my face and rubbing the grit from it. When Delita said nothing in response, I waited for the water to drain from my face before finding the grin on his. "What have you done now?"

"Oh, this wasn't my doing, I assure you," Delita admitted, lifting his hands in a helpless gesture. He grinned, admitting, "You can lay this scheme squarely at your sister's feet."

I slouched further into my tub.

This would not be pleasant.

oOo

Despite my prods, Delita refused to expand on his hints, merely deflecting my questions and promising me that I would learn more later. So, with a little bit of dread bouncing around in the back of my mind, we made our way to the garden where we were due to meet up with our sisters.

Alma and Teta both sat on a stone bench as we approached, and they were truly a study in contrasts, much the same way Delita and I were. Alma was blond and fair, while Teta's hair looked nearly black even in bright sunlight and her skin was the color of chocolate. Even their dresses were a stark contrast, with Alma wearing bright, sunny yellow with red highlights while Teta wore a dark purple picked out in white.

Of course, the fact that my sister was naturally outgoing to Teta's own shyness only added to the impression. Where Teta didn't even raise her head to look us in the eyes as we approached, Alma stood and waved.

We approached, with Alma giving me a rib-creakingly tight hug before she allowed me to have a seat on a second bench. Teta favoured her brother with a far more sedate hug before he joined me, the two girls reclaiming their seats.

"Okay... What have you done?" I finally asked with a sigh, not even bothering to voice a greeting.

"Ramza, is that really what you think of your youngest sister? Are you so uncouth that you would skip pleasantries to demand what scheme I've concocted?" Alma said, her voice slightly shrill as she glared at me.

Yeah, I'd been her brother for fifteen years. I just raised one eyebrow and tilted my head. She grinned and handed me an envelope of a heavy, cream-coloured parchment with my name written across the face in fancy writing. I opened it, pulling out the card and reading the contents.

_**Ramza Beoulve and Guest are cordially invited**_

_**to the celebratory feast and dance at Igros**_

_**on**_

_**September 17th, Ajora's Year 1257**_

After a moment, I glanced up at my sister.

"Why is this special?" I demanded, scowling slightly at Alma. Her grin was almost infectious, but I was well-used to her schemes by now and knew that whatever I was missing would prove to be a headache for me. "We both knew we were going to be at the event tonight."

"Well, well..." Delita noted, peering over my shoulder. At my questioning look, he continued, "It's an invitation for one Ramza Beoulve, that's you, and a guest of your choice. It doesn't matter who it is, but generally you're expected to bring a female companion of some sort."

He glanced up at my sister.

"Would I be wrong if I thought your invitation was similar, but read 'Alma Beoulve and Escort'?" Delita asked, his own grin matching my sister's. He crossed his arms and smiled at me. "I guess this means I get to go to the ball after all, Ramza."

"I've told you that you need to be more like Delita, Ramza," Alma murmured, rising and plucking my invitation from my hands. She flashed me a smile. "It's very simple, brother. Delita will be my escort, since I dare not show up without one, not with all of my classmates who will be showing up with escorts of their own. Likewise you will bring Teta to the dinner tonight."

I blinked.

I blinked again.

Yet despite the smile on my sister's face, matched by the one on my best friend's face, I felt nothing but trepidation. It's not that I have anything against Delita. In fact, I had been wishing earlier that he could, in fact, join me.

Nor was it that I thought Teta didn't deserve to go or that I had anything against her. Despite how shy she was, she'd been a playmate of mine when we were children and I had fond memories of the four of us darting around Igros as children.

However my sister's plans had always lead directly into trouble.

For me.

Alma was younger, and a girl. Likewise many people considered Delita and Teta nothing more than simple commoners, despite their education. Thus, it always fell to me to take the blame for whatever happened.

And damn me, whenever my sister pouted like that, I caved in. I didn't even bother to try to deflect her idea. I knew that no matter what happened, my sister would be on Delita's arm and Teta would be on mine tonight when I approached the banquet hall, and thus it would be a better use of my time to prepare for the inevitable instead of trying to stop the unstoppable.

Grinning at her victory, Alma asked us about our morning spars, complimenting Delita on his decision to have us bathe before meeting them. Yet I have to admit, the surprised smile on Teta's face did, perhaps, make the upcoming pain well-worth whatever headaches would ensue tonight.

I'd be a poor friend if I'd left her to find a meal at the kitchens instead of attending the event if it was within my power to change the fact.

oOo

Several hours later, as the sun began to set over the beach a few miles west of Igros, I made my way to the banquet hall. When I reached a corridor nearby where we had all agreed to meet, I found Delita and Alma chatting as Teta shifted nervously.

Evidently my sister had decided that the two girls would make an impression on the people waiting in the large hall. Alma wore a pale blue dress that I couldn't help but notice complimented her features very well. White ribbons tied in bows at the hem of her skirt were weaved into the pleats, encircling her waist before crisscrossing her torso and leading up to her shoulders, where more tied bows finished the ensemble. Teta's dress was exactly the same, but done in a blood-red with black ribbons which complimented her skin and hair perfectly.

Standing together, they looked almost like twins, but for their wildly different coloration. I glanced down at the orange dublet I wore and compared it to Delita's dark blue. No doubt we would match our companions, but the colors my sister had chosen for our outfits would leave no doubts in the minds of any who viewed us that it was the two girls who were supposed to draw everyone's attention.

I offered my arm to Teta, who took it with a grateful smile as my sister latched on to Delita. I led the four of us to the doors of the banquet hall. Upon seeing me, the herald waved our quartet forward and allowed us to bypass the line. Only natural, given that the man had, until recently, done his best to ensure I knew proper protocol.

Not that he had ever succeeded, but even I remembered enough of protocol to know that, as a child of the host, I was to be given precedence in entering the hall. After the man announced us, Alma bade us to wait near the entrance, a vicious grin on her face as she looked towards the doorway.

After the herald announced a girl I recognized to be Alma's classmate, I realized my devious sister's motives. Alma had recently mentioned that Teta was being teased at the preparatory academy the pair attended. The other noble girls, it seemed, felt insulted that a commoner like Teta was included in their classes. It was then that I understood my sister's plan.

By having me show up when I had, she had ensured that Teta would be allowed to walk by the line, walk right by all of her classmates, and be among the first allowed entrance into the most prominent social event of the year.

As Alma's classmate paused and shot Alma a glare, she leaned in to talk to the young man escorting her. After a brief moment of confusion, I recognized his face. He had been among the men Marquis Elmdor brought with him two days previous. A squire in knight training, if my memory served me correctly. Our meeting had been brief, I recalled.

As he walked by, he began to speak.

"It would seem they'll let anyone in. Then again, I suppose with the right... _favours_, even a Beoulve will allow an animal to ride on their coattails," His voice was far too loud to have been conversation. As Teta stiffened in my arm, my sister met my eyes and jerked her head once at the blond who had spoken.

Not that I'd needed the prompt.

I dropped Teta's hand and took two quick steps, tapping the blond youth on the shoulder. He stopped, Alma's classmate dropping her hands from his arm as he turned towards me.

"You'll apologize," I informed him curtly. I noticed that many eyes were upon us, now. Including my father, Orlandu, and Marquis Elmdor at the head table. To my father's left, my brother Dycedarg was already clenching his knife with a white-knuckle grip, having correctly guessed where the events transpiring would lead. Alma's escort hesitated for a second, and I simply continued with, "Now."

"I think not," he replied, glancing at Teta dismissively. The fool really should have kept his eyes on me after offering that sort of insult. With a crunch, my fist impacted against the snotty idiot's nose, and the familiar feel of cartilage cracking was echoed by the familiar sight of blood spraying dramatically down a man's front.

Algus dropped to the floor, as my mind finally supplied his name from our first meeting.

"You know, Ramza," Delita remarked drily, Alma holding his arm. I could tell that my sister was doing her best to hide a giggle, though she didn't even attempt to hide her approval. "Typically you're supposed to remove your glove before using it to issue a challenge,"

"Really?" I asked, my tone bland as I gazed at my blood-spattered glove in mock-wonderment. I let my hand drop and glared at the blond youth on the floor. "I suppose a bastard like me is unaware of proper protocol. I'm sure you'll forgive me for my lack of proper nobility. However, even I know what comes next. You have the choice of weapon, I believe."

Wiping the blood from his mouth, Algus glared at me as he climbed to his feet.

My father glanced at me once, his face attempting to be grim before he offered a dry chuckle as he nudged T.G. Cid to his left. Dycedarg merely lifted his hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose in disgust.

Algus' eyes found the lapels of my doublet, grinning as he stood. The silver shield of a knight in training glinted prominently at his own throat.

"I choose knight swords, then," he informed me. My, but didn't he sound confident.

Alma didn't bother to hide the giggles in her throat, then. Nor did Delita attempt to stifle the belly laugh he allowed to fill the entire banquet hall. Even shy Teta was now smiling a bit as she glanced at me, and I returned the smile with a grin of my own.

After sparring with Zalbag this morning, this duel would prove to be especially cathartic.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Ramza PAWNCH!

Oh, you thought that because I was casting Weigraf, Miluda, and Zalbag as all-around good guys that everyone would get some form of redemption, large or small? No, no, no. That wouldn't leave me with any fun villains to use! Oh, that and Algus is kind of a raging douche with no redeeming qualities.

Without Ramza saving Algus, I don't picture him even trying to get along with him. Combined with the two illegitimate children showing up with two commoners, and yeah... He might make an inappropriate comment or two. Which prompted Ramza to respond appropriately.

I think I smell another battle a-coming.

As for Alma... Even in the bland text in-game, she comes off as slightly manipulative and bratty. That means that she shares a lot of characteristics with Delita here in the FWAWverse. This story's actually interesting in that instead of having to world-build through exposition, I've got to fill in the blanks with a lot of characters and sort of character-build, retroactively applying certain traits in order to expand on the in-game stuff.

It's been a bit of a learning experience, I'll admit.


	5. Chapter 5

For Want of a War

Chapter 5: Teta

oOo

I still remembered the first time I met Ramza and Alma. Although my parents were naught but farmers, I remembered my father actually meeting Lord Balbanes a few times, when he was still alive. They played a game both he and my father seemed to love, something a lot like chess but with pieces which were somehow different. I presumed it to be a game from my homeland, wherever that is.

I was surprised when Ramza's father brought my brother and I to live with us. My parents had fallen to plague, and Delita and I were quite on our own and Delita barely nine at the time. We'd been living with an old, childless couple for nearly a week when a pounding on the door heralded my father's opponent: Balbanes had entered the room and took a look at us, smiling a bit before informing the couple that he would see to us.

To this day I do not know if privately they had hated the decision or if they even cared. However, they hadn't had a choice in the matter... So I like to think that they hadn't raised their voices in protest because it had meant a better life for my brother and myself.

Sitting in the carriage, I'd still been stricken with grief over my parents. Balbanes had slung one arm gently over my shoulders, stilling my sniffles in the confusion over what remained of my shattered life.

Once we'd arrived at Igros, hours later, he'd promptly introduced us to Ramza and Alma. Ramza had waved a little before Alma had dragged him closer, the girl inspecting me for a moment before informing me that she would need to get me some proper clothes for the adventure we were about to undertake.

On the first day Delita and I had been invited into Lord Balbane's home the four of us snuck off, Alma leading the way as she prodded Ramza into helping her evade their father's armsmen. We'd walked for nearly an hour to an old ruin near a forest and had played there for a time, Alma and I picking flowers while Ramza and Delita scrambled up crumbled walls.

The growl of the Cuar was the only warning I had had before it pounced at me. Only the fact it had been young and inexperienced prevented the attack from killing me, the monstrous cat flying above me as I screamed and fell to the ground. Alma had pulled me to my feet and we'd ran towards the ruins, the creature hot on our heels.

And then with a tremendous cry, Ramza had hurled a large rock which struck the Cuar squarely in the nose, setting it back on its heels. With a cry of "Let's go, Delita!" he had then charged directly at the thing with nothing more than a thick tree branch, my brother staring at the little madman for a second before picking up a rock and following. By the time he caught up, Ramza had already cracked the thing across the jaw with the stick once more, earning a hiss for his efforts as the creature's head flew to one side.

Ramza had successfully fought the thing with Delita pelting it with stones from nearby for perhaps a minute when it grew angry, leaping forward and pinning the blond boy to the ground. Delita had set himself to charge the thing when lightning had flashed down from a cloudless sky and thrown the monster away, dying with a moan. Ramza and Alma had turned to the source and we followed their gaze to find Balbanes staring down at us, fury written clear on his face.

I'd been sure he would see that Delita and I were sent away for our part in all of it, until Balbanes broke the glare with booming laughter, chiding Ramza for only putting up a decent fight for a few moments before he'd been forced to intervene, with Alma giggling as her father lifted her to his shoulder, scolding her between chuckles for tricking her older brother into coming this far away.

That day had made a very strong first impression on me.

oOo

Years later, and here Ramza was, still protecting me. I glanced over to see Alma calmly sipping some punch that Delita fetched for her, my brother wearing a confident smile which did nothing to ease my own disquiet at the situation.

The blond Beoulve was spinning of the sword in his right hand as he rolled his left arm, getting used to the shield. His opponent, Algus, tightened the strap on his shield as he glared across the hall at Ramza. Both of them were standing on the marble floor, upon which we had all expected to be dancing by now. All of the guests were here, but this dance would only be for two.

Neither wore armour, aside from the shields they held. Ramza was clad in the orange doublet and dark pants which he'd worn to the ball, and Algus was likewise adorned only with the coat and breeches he'd had when he entered the hall. Surrounding the two were all of the other guests in a large ring.

"A _true_ lady knows that when a champion is defending her honour, she should favour that man with a token," Merissa, my classmate informed me then, crossing the floor with the clicking of her heels to tie a ribbon which had been holding her hair in a ponytail around her champion's left bicep.

I wanted to do the same sort of thing for Ramza, but didn't have anything of my own. I stood rooted to my spot until I heard Alma whisper, "Left shoulder, third ribbon."

Trusting in my friend, I reached up, counting the bows at my shoulder with my fingers until I reached the third knot. With a light pull I untied it, the ribbon becoming loose. I pulled, and I felt my bodice loosen slightly. Not scandalously so, but enough to emphasis the growth I'd been experiencing of late. My cheeks aflame, I walked forward to Ramza and tied the ribbon to his arm, not daring to meet his eyes.

I rejoined my brother and best friend, watching as Ramza and Algus readied themselves.

"So... What do I have to do to get you to untie that ribbon on your dress?" I heard Delita ask, in what I presumed he thought was a quiet voice.

"Why Delita... All you have to do is challenge my brother," my blond friend replied quickly, giggling a bit. "Then, I'd certainly have to favour you with a token, wouldn't I?"

As the duel began, Ramza seemed to glide across the floor, his sword blow knocking Algus back and causing him to stumble. The orange-clad boy shifted his weight, following up with a powerful stroke which nearly disarmed his foe. Algus retreated a few steps, and Ramza advanced on him grimly.

"I think I'll pass, Alma," Delita concluded, and I glanced over to see a pained smile on his face. "Don't get me wrong, you're very lovely. However, I've already had the misfortune of fighting Ramza once today. I don't think I'd care to do it without armour, especially not with live steel."

By the look on his face, Ramza's foe seemed to be coming to the same conclusion. Although he stepped forward and tried to confront Ramza directly, my champion beat aside the attack with little exertion and continued to drive Algus before him. The crowd jeered and called at the cadet's continuous retreat, and as he grew tired I noticed a certain desperation about his actions.

With a desperate thrust, Algus dove towards Ramza. Normally I think he would have sidestepped it with ease, but the shoes he wore were not rugged things designed for the stress of combat. His heel slipped out from under him and only the shield he raised prevented Algus from stabbing him in the throat. Still, the blow sent him sprawling, and Ramza turned what would have been a loss into a retreat as he rolled backwards, getting his feet under him once more.

Emboldened by the success of his attack, Algus flashed a grin towards me before turning back to Ramza.

"You know, I could use a serving wench. I promise after you lose, I'll be sure she has a noble to serve under," Merissa's champion informed Ramza, taking a step forward. At the pronunciation, Ramza's eyes went cold.

"Merissa... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid your dance partner will be unavailable later this evening," the blond Beoulve informed my classmate, shifting his stance a little. "Algus, I was going to only injure your pride this night, but I think perhaps a scar will better remind you to watch your tongue."

With a contemptuous laugh, Algus charged Ramza. My champion didn't even blink, slashing his sword at his foe and grinning viciously as the blond cadet's sword shattered. Ramza wasn't done, however. He reversed the direction of his blade and slashed Algus across the chest, a long, vicious cut which shredded the fine clothes he wore and spilled blood onto the floor in a river.

Algus was gasping for breath, and Ramza stared down at him coldly.

"The next time you think to speak poorly in my presence, remember what your words have purchased," Ramza declared, casually wiping his borrowed blade clean on Algus' pant legs. "And remember that even the patience of a Beoulve has limits.

"This duel is over," Ramza proclaimed, to many cheers. A white mage who had been watching the duel silently crossed to the defeated noble, kneeling and casting a light healing spell on the young man. I noticed that, true to Ramza's words, the healing spell did not revive the young man fully. Leaning on the healer, Algus walked out of the hall.

A flash of blond hair crossed my path, and then Alma was standing next to Merissa. I didn't hear what my friend said to her, but her face went bone white and she quickly excused herself from the hall.

Many people have had cause to ask myself or Delita why it is that Ramza and Alma continue to associate with us. To be truthful, I can't say for certain. We weren't the first pair of commoners that noble children had chosen to play with, though unlike many we hadn't been discarded by our friends as they grew older and slowly grew into their responsibilities.

It was at times like that that I wondered the same thing, wondered how we were so fortunate.

The blond boy's grin filled me with a rare warmth as he set his equipment aside, and despite my status nobody within the hall dared to say another word about either my presence or Delita's. I noticed that the sister of the Death Corps leader, a woman called Miluda, was staring at Ramza more intently than ever at one point that night.

Laughing as we danced to a lively tune, I didn't really care.

oOo

Author's Notes:

This chapter was all about the character-building thing I mentioned previously. I wanted to establish exactly who Teta is and cover a little more about where she and her brother came from. I also purposefully avoided dialogue in Teta's trip down memory lane except for Ramza's one memorable line, hoping that the omission would make it 'feel' more like a memory, if that makes sense.

And while yes, I built up Teta's doubts a bit about Ramza winning the fight... C'mon. It's Ramza. Him lose to freaking Algus? By this point in his schooling, Ramza and his fellow cadets are basically capable attacking Weigraf and his squad head-on, since the events of Chapter 1 can, in theory, happen over the course of just twenty-two days if you make no sidetrips. Compared to that, Algus is a cowardly idiot who fights from afar with a crossbow and auto-potion despite being a bloody knight.


	6. Chapter 6

For Want of a War

Chapter 6: Villains

oOo Barinten oOo

My, but hadn't I misjudged the boy.

I'd heard little of the Beoulve bastard when I'd arrived at Igros for the peace talks. As important as I and my business were, not even Larg would dare to forget an invitation for me. So I had come, with a handmaiden and her selected guard.

Unlike her placid, trusting brother, I'd trained Rafa as sharp as a razor's edge. Even now, at just thirteen, she was already my best assassin. Calculating, intelligent, and with the promise of great beauty when she got older. She was perfect, and a part of me was scarcely able to wait for the day that she blossomed.

Ramza Beoulve was the first time she'd failed. She'd killed several high-ranking men before him with ease, and she'd been younger, then. Of course, being Balbanes heir, I'd known he'd be no ordinary target. Then again, it was his father's peace talks which had prompted me to target him.

Dycedarg was so well-protected that it would have been suicide to target him. Zalbag, likewise, was well-protected during the course of his ordinary duties as commander of the Hokuten. Even Alma, illegitimate and a woman besides, was guarded well. The only crack in the defense of Balbane's children was, I'd thought, Ramza.

I had been wrong. He'd needed nobody but himself to stop Rafa.

Watching as the boy casually sliced open that cadet of Elmdor's, I discarded my evaluation of the boy based on the reports I had received and started to evaluate him on what little I'd seen. Watching the way he casually used his abused opponent's trousers to wipe off the blood and walked away, I realized he was made of far sterner stuff than I'd thought any bastard could be made of.

It was then that I knew he'd have to die. I am Gelkanis Barinten, King of the Forge. When I said someone had to die, they died. That was how it worked. My vast forges aside, that was what I had used to build my empire. Nobody was allowed to live.

Nobody.

Yet that still left me with a very significant problem: Rafa was my best. Certainly she would have to be trained better by the ninja under my command and they would also have to focus on training her magical abilities, but I knew that would not be enough. She needed something more to be able to complete this kill.

I drank deeply of my wine, engaging in small talk with the unimportant lord daring to talk to me while my mind focused on the problem. It was not that she needed better stealth training: According to the report she'd given me this morning, she'd successfully had a knife at the boy's throat before he'd realized her intent.

Likewise, I discarded the idea of simply forcing her through more combat training. Already I was running the girl ragged with her instructors. Nothing more could be accomplished by training her for longer periods of time, save perhaps for damaging her. I don't like to damage my weapons unless I feel it worth the effort.

Then there was the fact I'd heard of Ramza's sparring match with his brother Zalbag. Commander of the Hokuten against a squire still not finished at the academy. The fact the little shit had forced his brother to use his Ark Knight abilities told me all I needed to know about Rafa's chances of taking him in a head-on fight. In a year or two, she would be very, very good. In a year or two, her target would be better still.

He would be a tough nut to crack. I could simply maintain the attempts on his life... But that would raise suspicion. One assassination attempt... Well, that happens to everyone. A string of foiled attempts and the boy would be placed under a heavy enough guard that I knew he'd be forever beyond my reach. No, I had perhaps two more chances to kill the boy. Three at the outside, and every one much more difficult than the last.

It was then, however, that I noticed my target. More specifically, I noticed his dance partner. She had hair and skin very similar to my assassin's, and a plan began to form in my mind. Ramza must not have been attracted to any of his sister's classmates. Perhaps they were too boring. All blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. His companion was different, she stood out in the sea of blond, pale girls rather dramatically.

I concluded that Ramza had exotic tastes, then. That would be my angle. A few mediators to teach my Rafa about being a proper lady and some forged documents would allow her to pass for foreign nobility. A carefully arranged chance meeting could introduce the girl into his life, and shortly afterward he would grow to trust the exotic lady from afar.

Long enough for her to slip a dagger in between his ribs, at least.

It was truly a shame, however. Rafa promised to grow into a fine beauty, but if I wanted to kill Ramza I would have to forgo my plans for her.

For now.

As the night wore on and the younger attendees retired, exhausted from dancing, I allowed myself a little smile as I nursed my cup. Certainly I would have to wait until she'd taken Ramza's life before I had Rafa.

But afterward, I could do whatever I wished.

oOo Elmdor oOo

It was early morning when I roused my troops from their beds, some still groggy from the night before. Yet despite the time of day, my men quickly donned their gear and prepared their mounts for the long ride home. We were days from my estate, and I had no intention of allowing any delays to prevent me from returning with haste.

After a quick breakfast in the kitchens, we mounted, riding to the gate. Balbanes himself simply nodded as we passed, though Dycedarg shot me a knowing look. My hand went to the breast pocket of my coat, where the stone he'd given me last night now rested.

I was not certain I fully believed the promises of power that had come with the stone. Such power was beyond the scope of my thought. Yet the revolution he promised, a secret rebellion known only to a few key players, that had interested me very much. We'd retired early from the banquet hall, and Dycedarg had outlined a plan for taking Ivalice from those who currently guided it and placing that control in the hands of a select few. Dycedarg didn't dare name his conspirators with him yet, but he had assured me I would meet them soon.

Even as he made the offer and I weighed it, I'd seen the way he casually stretched as he stood to get himself another glass of wine. I was no fool. He would not have approached me as he had unless he suspected I would agree to help. No doubt he'd staged the attempt on his brother's life last night himself, if only to establish that people could die here to nefarious plans beyond his control.

Even though I did not hesitate to agree to the plot, I resented the idea that Dycedarg would have killed me had I refused. More than the idea that he would have, it burned to know that then and there, the only thing which preserved my life was the eldest Beoulve son's whims.

As my party rode forth from Igros, I attempted to banish the dark thoughts from my mind. Despite that, the events of the previous night haunted me. Then an idea for petty revenge sprang forth in my mind. I dared not strike out against Dycedarg directly. No, the plan he had presented to me was far too important for that.

Yet I realized that I did, perhaps, have the means to take the man down a peg or two, however indirectly.

My eyes scanned the many men under my command until I found the sulking blond youth I was looking for. I noticed that Algus held himself stiffly, even for a man with a wound. His loss to Balbanes' youngest boy hadn't been a surprise to me, but I could see that the defeat, especially in front of so many people, was eating at him.

While he wasn't the most talented cadet I'd ever commanded, he certainly did have potential. And in that moment, I knew he now possessed a grudge to fuel that potential. With a pat on the neck of my chocobo and a tightening of my thighs, I guided my mount until I rode next to the youth.

If I could not strike at Dycedarg, his youngest brother would do nicely.

"Do not feel troubled, Algus. Better men than you have lost to a Beoulve," I offered, not glancing to the side. I hid a grin as I felt him turn my way. He didn't speak, so I did. "It might interest you to know that Ramza nearly fought his brother Zalbag to a standstill that very morning he challenged you. Clearly he's had special training."

"...I still lost, my lord," the blond cadet said with a pout, and I fought the urge to strike the petulant child. But then a pulse at my chest quieted that anger, and I smiled.

"Algus, I think perhaps you should reconsider. Yes, you were defeated now. However, he insulted you. Practically spat on you. I think you are due to challenge him some time in the future," I said, and grinned at the dawning look of realization in his eyes as I finally tilted my head to look at him. "Perhaps I shall find some spare time, here and there, to give you personal instruction. In just a year, you might well prove to be good enough to enter the royal tournament."

"You think he will be there, my lord?" Algus asked, his voice hopeful.

"Of course he will. Every Beoulve enters. They say that this year, Princess Ovelia will dance with the winner at the ball celebrating the end of the tournament," I added, watching the fires of imagination dance in the young man's eyes.

No doubt he was picturing himself at Ovelia's side, Ramza's still form somewhere on the tournament floor. Whatever would motivate him to learn what I had to teach.

Perhaps if he did manage to beat Ramza, he would be useful for other tasks. No doubt Dycedarg would find it handy to have a man with an array of deadly skills who was loyal to one of us. Especially one who I could, officially, command to anywhere in Ivalice, allowing him to possess a cover story while he did our work.

If Algus could prove himself worthy, he could be an effective agent for us.

And if he did not, well...

Like any tool, if he could not perform the task required of him, he was easy enough to discard.

The blond idiot was now nattering his thanks for the opportunity, but I didn't bother to pay attention. My mind was already on other matters.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Yeah, the story is going to be lighter and fluffier in general, but I needed to remind you all that Barinten is kinda an irredeemable bastard and the other villains in this story are evil with a capital E. Also, I needed to set up the motivation for Ramza's attempted assassination back in Chapter 1 and also go into a bit of detail about why Rafa'd be back, later on.

As for Rafa's personality, obviously it's going to be radically different from canon. Here she won't be an abused, tragic wallflower running away and looking for protection. No, I think I've got the shy girl angle covered very sufficiently with Teta, so Rafa's going to be undergoing a heaping helping of What If. You might like it, you might not, but frankly speaking I don't think we really NEED two shy girls with reason to look at Ramza as a protector who are, practically speaking, identical physically on top of sharing many personality traits.


	7. Chapter 7

For Want of a War

Chapter 7: Ramza

oOo

It had only been a month since my duel with Algus. I was back at the academy,

Mistress Tristana ducked under my roundhouse kick as she planted her bare hands on the ground, thrusting herself into a handstand with her feet aimed squarely at my head as her torso straightened. I tucked my head and took the blow on my shoulders, stumbling forward and had nearly regained my balance when I noticed that my opponent hadn't been idle.

Rather than trying to regain her feet by bring a foot down, my red-headed teacher had tilted her arms and shifted her balance, transferring the weight into a forward roll, her shoulders thudding dully into the ground as her back arched into a bow. I had time to brace myself as she launched herself towards me foot first, the kick catching me squarely in the gut and nearly throwing me over.

I turned my own momentum from doubling up into an attack, rolling forward and grabbing one of her legs as I did so. This pulled her off balance, and against a man would have left him sorely off balance. Tristana's other leg slid in the opposite direction, splitting to straddle the floor with one leg in front and the other behind as she rolled back, her legs wind-milling as she somehow turned my desperate ploy into another attack.

I barely had time to flinch as one of her shins landed none too gently on my neck, the woman pinning my right arm with her other leg and simply catching the punch I tried with my left. The pale woman grinned down at me.

"You lose, Ramza. Not bad, though. You took my speed punches with ease, and you're very nearly ready to try it yourself. I actually had to try to take you down," Tristana noted to me, and I grunted sourly as I rose. "Oh, do I sense some dissent?"

After a moment, I met her gaze.

"Mistress Tristana, understand that I mean no disrespect. I've used some of what you taught me in fights before. Against my brother, against other cadets... What you've taught me has served me well. I can't deny that," I admitted, and her eyes grew... colder, as I continued. "But I can't help but remember that every powerful man I've ever heard or read about, they've all been knights. Holy knights, dark knights. They accomplished with sword and shield, countless times, what others have not. Even when I faced my brother, I felt like the tricks I used were a mere distraction."

I was unprepared for Tristana's hand at my throat, clutching my tunic and almost choking me as she lifted me an inch or two off the ground. I barely had time to cough before I was thrown next to the gear I'd cast aside before our spar.

"Beoulve, I challenge you!" In that moment, I saw no trace of my teacher in her eyes. I only saw bright, hot vitriol, hate unchained. Fighting my way to my feet, she glowered at me. "Gird yourself in armour and wreathe yourself with sword and shield. I'll give you the first blow, lest you feel like running!"

I hesitated, swallowing nervously. I'd never known Tristana was this... Intense. I gathered my equipment in my arms and moved towards the door.

An unseen fist smashed the iron-wrought door, and despite my efforts to shoulder it open, it remained an impassable barrier. I spun as I heard Tristana run towards me. Her fist slammed into the bundle in my arms, and the armour separated under the strength of her fists, tossing me into the door. She grabbed me by the neck and threw me to the side, shaking my ruined armour to the ground from where it was bunched up

I'd barely held onto my scimitar and shield as I skidded across the ground, and rose with an unsteady moan. Given the way my teacher was advancing on me, Tristana was being serious. She was really offended.

I was a dead man.

With a practiced motion, I slipped my shield on, drawing my blade from the scabbard and throwing the covering to the side. I had a feeling I probably wouldn't need it by the time the fight was over. As Tristana ran towards me, I brought my shield up as I stepped into her, deflecting her punch.

Yet as I brought my blade up to slash her, I noticed that she wore no armour. Just taut flesh. I hesitated, thinking that I outclassed her. However, before I made the decision, I felt a hand clamp down, tight as steel, on the bicep of my sword-wielding arm, preventing me from swinging whether or not I felt like doing so.

Tristana's other arm was now stretched up, and she caught the top of my shield on the bottom of her upper arm, forcing her weight down on it. Even though I tried to hold the defensive piece up, her leverage was greater. Both my sword and shield were out of place, and Tristana was within my guard. By the victorious smile on her face, I knew she thought she'd won.

Her fist swept passed my ear as I threw my head forward, head-butting the insane teacher right in the face. Much like Algus had, her front was sprayed with blood as I broke her nose. The feeling was not so familiar when experienced through my forehead instead of my fist. She rolled back to escape, and I was after her in an instant.

She rolled to her feet, moving her entire body and shifting her knees to allow my diagonal slash to flit by her without damage. And this time, by the grin on her face, I knew I was in for some pain. As her fists blurred into one of her signature techniques, I raised my shield in desperation.

The shield absorbed some of the blows without a problem, before shattering. My scimitar likewise deflected a few blows before Tristana grabbed it and wrenched it from my hands, leaving me without any weapon. Instinct, and months of training with the woman, prompted me to catch her hands with my own, clenching for all my worth.

"Die, Ramza! If you can't appreciate my teaching, it's better if you don't see tomorrow!" Her fists opened, lacing my fingers with hers and fighting with me for dominance. As she said it, she levelled a brutal kick into my ribs. I winced, but retaliated with a kick to her side in kind.

"Look, just stop!" I yelled, trying to force her to her knees. Despite the fact my arms were longer and I was taller than her, she just grinned and didn't move as I attempted to force her to her knees, all the while delivering lightning kicks to my side which robbed me of my breath every time we shifted balance.

I floundered about for an opening, but knew that if I tried a kick at the wrong time, I'd be forced to the ground and dead within an instant. Yet even as I tried to pull away, Tristana merely widened her grin and tightened her grip. Even when I tried to repeat my head-butting tactic, she twisted her head to take it on one shoulder before kneeing me in a place far too sensitive to receive blows of that nature.

As we struggled, I wondered how nobody could have heard. Wondered how none of the other instructors could have interfered, yet. And then Tristana kicked me hard in the gut, breaking her grip on my hands as I fell backwards, and I had no more time to think.

"This is why you never doubt a monk, you bastard!" The redhead growled, and I braced myself, shielding my body with my arms as best I could as the ground exploded, throwing me into, then through the iron door behind me.

And it was then I knew I was unconscious, for what followed made no sense at all.

Hazily, as if through a dream, Tristana stepped through the shattered wreckage of the door I'd crashed through. To both sides of where I lay, the teachers of the academy stood. More strange was my own brother, Zalbag. Lending credence to my theory was the fact that despite my best efforts, I couldn't speak a damned word.

"I told you!" Tristana crowed, gingerly picking through the twisted metal of the door. She moved to stand at my feet, glaring to both sides. "I told you he could take my training! Look at him! He's alive! That's better than anyone else!"

"I'm not sure I trust my brother to your untender mercies," Zalbag noted, though I thought it strange that a dream would sound so much like my brother. The other teachers in attendance agreed with the sentiment, given their muttering.

"You're just jealous that he endured my test better than you," Tristana said. And then, I knew beyond a doubt I was dreaming. Surpassing Zal was a grand goal, but beyond a man like me. She turned her head to the other teachers. "If I can convince him, you'll agree?"

The teachers nodded, and Tristana grinned.

"Little Zal... Imagine what I could do with a Beoulve with the ability to take my training. Just because we've never seen a Holy Monk, that doesn't mean I can't create one," the redhead noted, and after a moment Zalbag motioned his consent.

As my dream ended, I felt the oddly-real sensation of Tristana's hand on my wrist, dragging me away.

oOo

I awoke some time later on a wagon to the gentle rocking motion of chocobo pulling their load across the roads of Ivalice. Every inch of my frame ached, and the sight of Tristana's slight frame at the front of the wagon proved my memories correct.

My brother had given her to me, and whatever she had planned was serious enough to warrant a departure from Gariland. I would be the sole focus of her attention, and given the madness I'd seen in her eyes, I wasn't sure I wanted to be in my current position.

I'd been wrong about her intent, but not that which drove her. That meant that I was going to be her sole pupil for some time.

Even when Tristana had students only for a few hours a week, all but the most combat-focused feared her lessons. And now I was to bear the brunt of her attention for weeks, or even months.

Ajora preserve me.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Oh, is that some character-defining decisions I see?

I wanted to establish a reason for Ramza not to become a simple case of Zalbag's shadow-lite. I don't like to do anything the easy, simple way. Giving Ramza access to Balbanes and Zalbag would be doing things the easy way. The simple question was how to separate Ramza from their influence... Which had an easy solution. Offer him special training, and put it in a way which allows him to stand outside his brothers' shadows.

In canon, Ramza separated himself from the Hokuten quickly enough that he didn't have to worry about being forever cast as "the youngest Beoulve". He had better things to think about by the time he would have graduated. This time, not so much.x

And yeah, I know... Tristana is an original character. Boo, hiss... Look, I don't want to have to write basically the same fight scenes as I did for PAM, so blaaaah! I need a strong monk, and canon provides none. Picture her being voiced by Jennifer Hale doing Renegade Shepard, if it helps ease the transition.


	8. Chapter 8

For Want of a War

Chapter 8: Ramza

oOo

It was only the first day of Tristana's training, yet I felt more exhausted than I could possibly put into words. It had all seemed so harmless when we arrived. Surely the rumours about her were overblown. She couldn't possibly be that bad, I'd thought.

More fool I.

We had set up camp in her chosen training location, a barren stretch of land devoid of anything but rocks and the last, stubborn bits of plant life that clutched the crevices in between the rocks, no doubt gaining meagre nourishment from the occasional rain that pooled in such places. While the hill leading to it was not quite a matter of climbing instead of walking, after fifteen minutes and the feel of my legs burning the distinction was quite lost on me.

Upon arriving, Tristana had informed me that the first thing I was expected to do was fill the cooking pot with water for our dinner. After forlornly looking around and concluding that the nearest source of water was at the bottom of the damnable hill, I'd begun to reach for the pot when Tristana's hand intercepted mine, the experienced Monk shaking her head.

"No, Ramza. I need to put the prepared ingredients in the pot. You'll fill it with this, I think," she'd pronounced, placing a copper mug in my hands. One quick glance between pot and drinking device confirmed what I already suspected: It would take many trips to fill the pot.

"You'd better hurry," Tristana added lightly, glancing up to the sky. "The sun will be directly overhead soon, and... Well, it might hurt your progress towards dinner if I get thirsty."

I didn't even bother to argue in the face of her even stare. I clenched my hand around the mug and ran. It took me fourteen trips before Tristana was satisfied. Each trip averaged roughly twenty minutes, and only the fact I was dunking my head in the stream and drinking deeply each visit allowed me to maintain the pace I had.

With the sun high in the sky and the pot filled I collapsed on the soft bed roll I'd laid out for myself, gasping for breath.

"On your feet," Tristana's voice snapped, and my fear of her disapproval was such that I found myself scrambling up before I'd even thought to marshal feelings of disagreement on the subject. She frowned at me, at the sweat already sticking my clothes to my frame.

Her foot lashed out knocking over the pot even as her deft fingers kept the sliced vegetables within from spilling out. The water I'd spent hours accumulating spilled onto the ground. She jerked the pot upright again, barely half a mug's water inside. With a gesture, a Fire spell lit the kindling underneath the pot.

It was an effort to catch the copper mug she threw at me.

"You now have to race against the boiling water, as well as the sun," Tristana informed me. At my disbelieving gaze, her frown deepened. "Stop wasting time. I'll be most displeased if our food burns because of your lack of haste."

Our food didn't burn that night, but it was a near thing and involved far more trips than I could keep count of. For every mug of cold water I poured into the pot, almost as much escaped as steam. It only got worse as the damnable thing filled: My first trip eliminated the boiling of the water entirely, but by the time I was finished the bubbling barely stopped with each mug added.

It was late in the day by that time, and I wordlessly collapsed into my bedroll as soon as the sadistic demon informed me that the pot was 'full'. We did not train evening, even Tristana acknowledging that it'd do no good. With a belly full of food, I curled up in my bedroll and tried to still the occasional twitch of my muscles.

Eventually I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

oOo

The next day, Tristana did the same thing. The only thing that changed was the contents of the cooking pot. I ran, while she watched, disapproval clear on her face at the lackluster results I was producing. I ran, fighting the tremors in my body from the previous days exertions, forcing myself not to spill even a drop of the precious water.

The week went, and I grew more and more pitiful each day. On the fifth day, Tristana's food did indeed burn. She allowed me to sleep and didn't comment. I forced myself to sleep that night, telling myself that surely this was just some hellish form of training, meant to harden myself for the martial training to follow.

I didn't know it was a test.

One I'd be failing for five days now.

Which is why awakening to find Tristana packing camp was such a shock in the morning.

oOo

I was still half in my bedroll as I watched my teacher angrily shoving stuff into the enchanted pack which housed most of our gear. She forcefully put it down to glare at me from where she knelt, sitting back and resting her hands on her thighs.

"What a waste. Beoulve, I am very angry with you right now," Tristana growled, shaking her head. The growl's volume rose as she continued, "Days spent traveling, and more days wasting my time watching you run. And for what? A pathetic showing."

That caused some ire to rise in me, and I suddenly didn't care that me and this unbalanced instructor were miles from any witnesses, my anger finally overriding my good sense.

"Pathetic? You've had me running constantly every day!" I retorted, getting to my feet and pointing at her. Rude behavior, I knew, but I was beyond caring about such trivialities at the time. I shook my head. "I am here because you said I had such great potential! Where the hell is that judgement now?"

"Clearly I was an idiot!" Tristana snarled, getting to her feet and striding across to me, her nose scarcely an inch or two away from my own as she glared at me, eyes roiling in her fury. "Mighty House Beoulve, and the best they can give me is a bastard who gets tired whenever he has to do any real work! Pathetic!"

"I'll show you pathetic!" I cried. I was beginning to hate that word.

With terrifying anger fueling my first blow, even Tristana was unprepared as I lashed out at her, my right fist flying forward in a straight punch even as my left leg unconsciously slid back in support. Lightning fast, she twisted her forearm to absorb the blow on the muscle there, her elbow bending as she stepped back to bleed the momentum from my attack.

That punch had been a mistake: I didn't care. Tristana clearly thought I would, however, because her surprise was near total when I followed my first attack with a sidekick which took her solidly in the stomach. She flopped back onto her shoulders with a wheeze, before rolling to her feet and leading the way with a flurry of blows.

I was familiar with the speed punching a monk can do, but hadn't mastered the trick yet. That didn't mean I was incapable of dealing with it, as I used sweeps of my arm to deflect punches two at a time. A few still slipped through, but none were disabling. As soon as Tristana's resolve flagged, even momentarily, I stepped in, my hand gripping her forehead as my leg snaked behind one of hers, slamming her into the dirt with a deeply satisfying thud.

I rolled forward, briefly planting my full weight on my hand as I avoided the spinning sweep kick she used to try to get me to the ground. As soon as she was on her feet, I dodged to the left as she thrust a hand toward me, the ground underneath exploding in furrowed trench throwing rock shrapnel my way. In the distraction of her attack, I hadn't noticed her running at me.

I managed to block the elbow she leveled at my face, but the follow-up knee to my sternum knocked me flat on my ass, gasping for breath. I tried to will my body to move, but found I was done.

"See, this is why I'm pissed!" Tristana raged, shoving me from my gasping, sitting position. She strode a few steps away, waving her arms wildly. "It just figures! You've got this insane talent for the hand-to-hand aspect, enough that I could eventually make you better than me! Yet your control over your body's chakra is so pathetic that no matter how much work I put into you, you won't have the durability to stand up to those silly knights and their silly armour!"

"What's-" I coughed, rubbing my chest before hacking up... Something. I spat to the side and tried again. "What's chakra?"

Tristana blinked, her anger draining instantly. Her stare was now one of absolute befuddlement. She looked as if she was about to begin speaking several times before stopping. Finally, her voice cracking in outrage, she shouted, "What do you mean, what's chakra! It's what lets a monk fight a foe with armour and weapons! It's the whole basis of the monk style!"

"I've never had any formal training. I've not yet qualified for knight training at Gariland, remember?" I pointed out, shrugging a bit. I coughed once more, forcing my way to my feet. "Everything I know about fighting like a monk is knowledge I've picked up either directly from you, or from fighting my classmates in spars. I take it chakra has something to do with why you think," and here I emphasized the word, continuing, "my endurance as a monk is so poor?"

"Of course I think it's poor! Nobody can pull off feats like you have without either a bit of chakra control or magical reinforcement! The fact you've done this well..." She trailed off, and the look in her eye at that moment was quite disconcerting. "You really have done well, haven't you? In fact, now that I think about it, I did think you were using your chakra to boost and heal yourself. Poorly, true, but given how far you pushed yourself I didn't even consider the possibility that you were forcing yourself on with nothing more than willpower."

I shifted a bit, and she slammed a fist into open palm decisively.

"It's perfect!" Her voice was an equal mix of wonder and determination at the statement. "If I train you from the ground up to fight without using your chakra, then when I finally do teach you to use it you'll be using it to improve on what most people would call the peak of a monk's ability!"

"Now see here. Just a moment," I tried, waving my hands. "You said something about healing myself in there. Doesn't that mean pushing myself like I have is dangerous? That I'm doing myself harm by pushing myself as I have been?"

"I can heal you with my own chakra, now that I know that it may present a problem," Tristana said dismissively. Her eyes shone with a dark light, one that promised terrible, terrifying things. "With you, I might finally be able to show those sissy knights that a real fighter is someone who just uses their fists! Just think, Ramza! The next time you fight Zalbag, you'll be doing it barehanded!"

The thought scared me more than my Beoulve heritage would allow me to admit. If asked later, despite what Tristana might claim to the contrary, I did not in fact whimper or moan in terror at her proclamation. I bore it with the same stoic resolve all Beoulve men have faced tribulations.

Completely and utterly stoic. No whimpers at all.

From Tristana's madness-laced laughter as she now ignored me and began to mutter to herself, I truly believed that there would be many more times in my near future in which I'd find cause to selectively alter my memory of events.

oOo

That night, Tristana was as good as her word. Through whatever mystical art monks knew, which she now refused to teach me, she'd healed the torn muscles and aching joints which had begun to plague me after the first day's continuous run up and down, carrying cups of water.

The following morning, I awoke to a copper mug dropped on my head.

Blearily shaking the sleep from he head and rubbing my eyes, it was a moment before I could properly examine it.

It was, at most, two-thirds as large as the one I'd been using.

"You'd better hurry, Ramza. From now on, I'm going to be starting the fire at sunrise, regardless of whether or not you've begun to fill that pot," Tristana informed me, her grin full of everything but cheer. She leaned in close. "Ajora preserve your soul if even one piece of my food burns, because we both know nothing will save you from me."

In an instant, I was running towards the creek. As I dunked the mug into the water, I gave brief thought to fleeing. However, I firmed my resolve and ran back up the path, carefully balancing the water as I went. I returned because I was a Beoulve, and we did not back down in the face of challenge and adversity.

It was not because I was certain Tristana could run me down with ease, and nor was it an intense fear of whatever esoteric punishment she might inflict on me if I did try to escape. Such thoughts were not the thoughts of a Beoulve, and thus they were not my own.

Not even at the back of my head as I observed Tristana's smirk as she added more branches to the fire, stoking it to get it hotter.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Apologies for the delays, folks. I could go on and on about why, but suffice to say Real Life has been kicking my ass a bit. This whole career thing is a pain in the ass.

Regarding the chapter, I wanted to justify Ramza being an inefficient monk while also justifying his eventual potential. Him being self-taught through observation of his peers thus gave me a perfect excuse for him to fail to learn a vital technique to the style, which in turn gives me an excuse to put him through hell for a bit.

As for why his classmates didn't teach him, that one's easy. In FFT's canon story, they did eventually teach him what he didn't know because they all decided "Screw the rules, we're helping Ramza!" After killing a couple Hokuten and murdering Algus, they probably didn't care so much about not teaching the bastard and the commoner stuff that Gariland staff said they weren't ready to learn. Here, there's an excuse for them to keep it to themselves.

I hope you enjoyed the update, and I promise that it won't be over ten months until the next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

For Want of a War

Chapter 9: Ramza

oOo

I finally attempted to run away from Tristana three weeks into my training. Morning after morning of filling that damnable pot followed by afternoons of the redheaded devil beating me senseless had done their dark work and broken my spirit.

It was not a conscious decision. I was not thinking about the disgusted look my brothers might have at my cowardice, nor was I thinking about the disappointed look my father might have at the sight. None of those thoughts crossed my mind when I first reached the stream, dunking my head in and drinking deeply to refresh myself, before leaping beyond and running at full speed away from the place which had been my temporary home for a month.

My only thought was ending the recurring pattern of running, pain, and oblivion, each interrupting the next in an endless cycle of torment.

My bare feet slapped the dirt underneath as I breathed slowly, steadily, devouring the miles between myself and the horizon with an ease which would have shocked me a month ago. Now, I only hoped that the haste I was traveling under might grant me enough of a head start to escape Tristana's wrath long enough to get back to the protection of my family.

As a bastard, even one acknowledged by my father as I was, I'd always chafed at any implication that I would dare to hide behind my family name. Being a Beoulve was always a standard I strove to live up to, not a bludgeon I used to batter aside the objections of my peers. I wasn't a great warrior because nobody could hope to stand against a Beoulve, I was such because every Beoulve trained themselves relentlessly in the martial arts until they became a great warrior.

I was growing into the man I wanted to be because of my name, and in spite of it.

Yet I fled. I fled from Tristana. Like a coward, I turned my back on that which I'd sworn to myself I'd see through and ran as if I was no more worthy of respect than the most base of men. And after nearly two hours of running, my only feeling was that of relief.

I felt no shame at all.

Pausing to lean against a tree, gasping for breath, I allowed myself to rest for a moment.

"My compliments, Ramza," and here I froze. Tristana stepped from behind a tree, and only the fact I'd long since sweated out the liquids I drank prevented me from emptying my bladder at the sight of her. As the small woman rubbed her pale jaw with calloused fingers, my bowels threatened to empty at the smile on her face. "I expected you to break under that routine within a week. After the second week, I honestly began to wonder if you were human. However, I now know exactly what it takes to break you. That's good."

"How is that good?" I wondered, collapsing to my knees. I'd thought I'd escaped.

"It means that now that I'm ready to begin training you for real, I know just how far and how intensely I can push you," she replied, throwing me a water skin.

I drained it. I knew what she was going to say before she said it.

"We're going back to camp, now. I filled the pot before we left, so if you don't slack, our food should be ready by the time we get back," Tristana said, grinning a bit. "We'll have a nice meal, master and pupil, and then we can actually begin training for real!"

The clinical part of my mind, the small part aside from the main portion gibbering in terror, noted that she hadn't considered the hell I'd lived through up until now 'real' training.

oOo

For all of my fears, the burdens on me actually eased a little as we began the 'real' training. True, it was just as demanding of me, but no longer was it mindless. Now instead of spending my mornings running, I spent them training intensively with Tristana. Each day I learned something new, figured out how to do something better.

Even if it was something as simple as learning to twist just a bit more when receiving a blow, or learning that slipping my hands a bit higher on Tristana's torso made a take down easier, each morning spent in hand to hand with my master was time well spent.

The afternoons were spent learning two of the most basic of a monk's special skills: The spin fist, and repeating fist. Tristana told me that normally, a monk used their chakra to allow themselves the additional strength or speed required to pull off the attacks. She also told me that I was going to learn how to do them without touching my chakra.

The spin fist training was simple. One morning, Tristana handed me an axe and had me journey to the forest. There I cut down a tree as thick around as a man, and slowly dragged it back to camp, where I hewed it into four equally long lengths. Tristana then affixed legs angled towards the ground about a foot up on each log, to make them harder to knock over.

The first day I tried, I twisted torso and spun my fist, solidly knocking over the first log. My momentum bled out on the second log, scarcely disturbing it. After an hour of frustrating attempts, the best I could manage was getting the second log to wobble.

Tristana had simply nodded to herself, and then set the knocked over log upright.

"Ramza, I'm going to show you something here," my redheaded master noted, lightly pulling me out of the centre of the four training logs and stepping in herself. She raised an eyebrow at me as I stepped back. "I'm not going to use my chakra for this. Just watch my form."

She breathed deep, and then screamed loudly as she spun. Her fist crashed into all four logs in almost the same instant, and all of them wobbled dangerously for a moment, before they all fell over. I replayed the attack in my mind, noting the way her foot had shifted after the second log to add more momentum to her spin. I'd also noticed the way she'd swept her arm, making up for a lack of power from her spin with extra power in her strike.

I nodded, and began to set the logs up again. While I didn't master either trick immediately, I started to make progress towards equaling my master's feat.

The first time I knocked over three logs, I'd shouted in triumph. Tristana told me to do it spinning the other way, and I found my coordination in that sorely lacking. I knew, ever before said it, that to consider the technique finished, I'd have to be able to go both ways.

The repeating fist training was far more simple. Tristana simply had a pair of gloves with strange, heavy padding over her palms. We would play a simple game: I had to hit either of their gloves any time they moved, and if I was too slow to hit it, the pale teacher would slam a kick into my ribs. I was allowed to try to block those kicks, but that was a task far easier said than done. Every time I got kicked I was already off-balance from the continuous punching.

Though I never found myself in a position to stop the kicks, I knew what my master was doing from the first counterstrike: She was teaching me to punch fast while not sacrificing my ability to defend myself. After the first month of the speed punching game, she stopped waiting for me to miss punches, and instead just tried a kick whenever I was open.

It was four months from the day I'd found myself kidnapped from Gariland before I could consistently knock over the logs spinning in either direction, and two weeks later I was able to continue to punch every time Tristana's gloves moved while I deflected or outright dodged her retaliatory kicks.

The next morning, Tristana decided I was ready to learn how to use my chakra.

oOo

Tristana and I sat in the dirt by our camp, legs crossed and wrists balanced on our knees as we breathed slowly, steadily. We had been meditating for nearly an hour, my only instructions being to focus entirely on my breathing, eyes closed. My left hand hung loose. In my right hand I held a large stone, one which had no cracks or obvious flaws.

Breathe in, breathe out. The rock in my hand was weightless. The only sensation I felt was the expansion and contraction of my lungs as the air I breathed entered and exited me. I ignored the slight wind rustling my clothes and hair. I did not feel the dirt beneath my legs and rear. I was not warmed by the sun shining on the right side of my frame.

I breathed in.

I breathed out.

"Search inside yourself. Dive inside your consciousness," Tristana's low voice commanded. I felt a sensation of falling.

In.

Out.

"Deep in the core of your soul is a spark," Tristana continued, and in my mind's eye I saw a bright blue flame amidst the darkness. "As you breathe in, that spark will slowly spread throughout your body. As you breathe out, it will recede, but not as far as it spread. With each breath, it will fill your body until your fingers and toes are nearly bursting with light."

In.

A faint memory of warming myself by the fireside on a cool winter's day.

Out.

In.

Emerging from a forest after a day's hunting with Delita, the late summer sun banishing the chill of the shade.

Out.

In.

Stepping outside of the carriage in the Zeklaus desert while accompanying my father on a trip to Lesalia.

Out.

In.

Diving into a steaming back, knowing it was going to be far too hot to stand for long but relishing the feeling of heat on tired muscles after a long day of swordwork.

Out.

In.

"Ramza, form fists!" Tristana commanded. In an instant, I obeyed, my fingers curling. My right hand met little more resistance than my left, and the feeling of the rock shattering underneath my fingers snapped me out of my trance.

My eyes flew open to see my teacher's mischievous smirk.

"That, Ramza, is your chakra," Tristana informed me, rising to her feet and brushing the dirt from her knees. She stretched a bit, continuing, "Now that you've tapped into it, I'll be teaching you to use it consciously. You'll soon learn how to use it without meditating."

I stared at the shattered remains of the stone as I opened my palm, still amazed by the feeling of something so solid just... falling apart underneath the power of my grip.

She slapped a hand on my shoulder with a grin.

"That's only the beginning," she promised.

And it was. To say that after that day my abilities as a monk improved is an understatement. Mastery of the spin fist and repeating fist, the likes of which I'd never before dreamed of, came within days of that revelation. As I learned to manipulate this strange energy within me, I found myself moving quicker and striking harder.

Even exercise proved to be no great burden, now. Before that day, when I ran for hours, I might find myself exhausted beyond measure. After that day, it was simply something which consumed time and required me to refresh myself with a drink of water before the training truly began.

Before, my master's strikes would leave me covered with bruises. Now, those bruises would often fade long before our spar ended.

In the months which followed, Tristana showed me everything a monk could do, and every step of the way she was pushing me to improve.

Waking one morning to find Tristana packing our bags, nearly eight months to the day she'd first kidnapped me, was not a great surprise. The last few weeks had not been marked by significant improvement on my part, and instead had been almost a vacation.

However, it was a surprise to learn we wouldn't be heading to Gariland. Instead, Tristana wanted to take me to her own master, to show him what she had accomplished with me.

And so we began to journey towards Zaland Fort City.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Time to hit the Stations of Canon! Choo-choo!

Though seriously, the only way to get Mustadio involved with the plot is to have Ramza be there sometime during the span when he's running from Bart Company. Before he hides the stone and runs, he's a nobody engineer among dozens. If Ramza doesn't intervene, logically Cardinal Draclau pretends to side with Mustadio until he gets the stone, and then Mustadio and Besrodio get killed in a horrific, Holy Stone-hiding cover up.

One thing I'm trying to do here is avoiding the plot of the game to form a different path. For most of the other characters of interest, that's actually been surprisingly easy to plot out, since Ramza would have interacted with them in some capacity regardless. Mustadio was the lone exception. Since I can't possibly do a lighter-and-fluffier FFT without one of my favourite characters, Ramza needs a reason to be in Zaland.

At least it won't end with Ramza being ditched by a princess and killing a cardinal. Ovelia's still at Orbonne, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

For Want of a War

Chapter 10: Ramza

oOo

Zaland was not a pleasant city, I reflected.

I was sitting at a table out of doors, the bustle of the pub inside loud despite the fact it was only yet early afternoon. I picked at my roasted chicken, killing time as I waited for my master to return. Tristana had promised me that she'd find her own master's whereabouts soon enough, and that I should just wait for an hour.

That had been two hours ago.

When I first sat down, I'd ordered a watered down ale and spent far more time than my waitress would have chosen for me to spend sipping it. Another had followed and ten minutes after my master was due to return, I'd chanced ordering one of the leftover chickens from the lunch rush. I eyed the dregs left in my tankard and considered ordering a third ale, this time something which hadn't been watered down.

I don't know if it was conscious design or random bad luck, but my master had chosen a pub in the least interesting section of town for me to spend my time waiting. The densely-packed houses along the road offered no shops to peruse within easy sight of the pub, and across from where I sat lay a large wall which stretched for two hundred feet in either direction, quite blocking my view of the no doubt lovely estate on the other side.

Guards patrolled the top of the wall, discouraging any attempts at scaling it. I hadn't been considering the thought seriously yet but given more time and ale, the thought might have become serious later in the day if events continued as they were.

"Sir, can I get you something else?" I glanced towards the dark-haired waitress as she eyed me carefully. My sporadic orders had been accompanied by some decent coin on the side to go along with the price for the ale and chicken, which meant even though I'd only ordered a few items, she was quite eager to make sure she was the one who took them from me, rather than her coworkers.

"Actually, yes, I-" I began, pausing as I heard the frantic panting of a someone running. I glanced up to see a young man run by, a long blond ponytail flapping in the wind as he sprinted. Judging by the desperate keening in his voice, the stiff canvas trousers, and the trio of heavy pouches he had strapped to various parts of his frame, he was not doing so for his health as I had been for the many months previous. "Strange."

I turned my head to find the source of his desperate haste, and was rewarded with what I judged to be a tracking squad. Two women with bows were sprinting ahead of four men, two black mages and two knights, presumably as they followed the young blond who'd just sprinted by. As they flashed passed me I noticed that while they seemed to be wearing a uniform of some kind, they most certainly weren't wearing the livery of the Zaland city guard.

"It would appear I won't, actually," I informed the young waitress, before sprinting after the young man's pursuers, keeping my distance as I jogged at what was, to me, an easy speed.

Intervening before I found out what was going on could be disastrous, and I didn't intend to make that mistake. I would let the events play out until I knew more.

oOo

Twenty minutes later, and the six pursuers had managed to corner their prey near the city walls. In this area of the city the walls were low enough that he could easily climb over them, but the open ground beyond would doom him to the archers.

He appeared to know it, too, because he whirled on the six, his back to the wall. One of the two knights stepped forward.

"You can't escape, Mustadio," the knight growled, holding out his hand. "Give it to us if you value your life!"

With that one phrase, I silently set my feet where I was hiding, peeking around the corner at the ongoing drama. If this group had had something legitimately stolen from them, the lead knight would have asked for the item's return, whatever it was. Instead, this Mustadio must have found something they were searching for and didn't feel the need to pay for it.

"What do you want?" He demanded, though his acting was so bad even I could tell he was faking. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't play dumb!" The leader of the band snapped, his hand going to his sword. He slowly drew the blade, before pointing it at the young man. "Don't you care about your father? Just give us the holy stone and we'll return him to you!"

Well, I thought. That made it rather obvious just which of these two diverse sides I should be supporting. I quickly breathed in deeply, preparing myself to move and fight.

Mustadio appeared to be considering the offer, no small amount of anguish on his face at the naked threat. That hesitation appeared to be just what the lead knight was waiting for.

"Get him!" The knight roared, charging at the ponytailed youth.

Mustadio's assailants were all focused on him. Only he saw me as I charged around the corner, and in his eyes I only saw confusion, not relief. He quickly focused on the man charging him, dodging at the last second and pointing a strange mechanical device at the knight. A sharp crack not entirely unlike a solid bolt spell resounded as fire gutted forth out of a tube pointed towards the knight, and the man screamed in pain as the device, a weapon of some sort, caused a wound in his side.

"And you can tell Rudvich that if he lays a hand on my father he'll never see the stone!" Mustadio shouted, turning to run again. As an arrow cut in front of him he glanced back, just in time to see my own charge reach the centre of the group attacking him.

Forcing my chakra into my right hand, I ignored the attention of the men and women as they took in the threat I presented, skidding to a stop and planting my feet. This would be the moment my training paid off. This would be the moment I finally used the skills Tristana had forced me to learn in combat for the first time.

I began by executing a spin fist, too far away from any of my foes to make contact. Yet instead of stopping as I completed the first spin, I swung my arm again, this time releasing the built up chakra as I poured more speed into my rotation.

Normally earth slash requires intense concentration to perform. Normally, it's impossible to combine with a high-movement attack like the spin fist.

Normal monks had never been trained to the extent I had, according to my master.

In a near-perfect circle around me, the earth underneath the cobblestones exploded, turning the paved street into a maelstrom of shrapnel aimed at everything around me. The windows of nearby building shattered, and the walls of the same were thoroughly dented.

More impressively than the collateral damage I caused was the casualties I'd inflicted on my enemies. Both black mages were down, as well as one of the archers. The other bow-wielding woman was on her knees, obviously on her last legs. Only the two armour-clad knights were still in the fight, and I could tell with a glance that the one nearest me was more than just annoyed by the blow I'd dealt.

Mustadio's device spoke again, and the remaining archer fell. I nodded toward the knight closest to me and he answered with a grin, already focused on the man he'd already hit once. For all his apparent panic when he'd been chased while alone, I will say that the young man recognized an opportunity when he saw one and seemed quite good at keeping a cool head.

I ran towards my current target and to his credit, the knight blocked my initial kick, holding his ground as his shield rose to block my strike. He was unprepared for me to intercept his counterstrike by clamping down on his forearm, blocking his blade's slash. He was dismayed for the few seconds of consciousness he had remaining when my other hand slapped his shield-arm wide. Unconsciousness came when both hands clamped down on his neck, bringing him forward as I lifted myself up into a rising knee which more than likely broke his jaw and a loosened most of the teeth in his mouth.

I wheeled from my opponent as I heard yet another muted explosion from Mustadio's direction, only to find that he'd dealt with his opponent. The ponytailed young man had not a scratch on him, though I did notice that the final knight, the one foe I hadn't downed myself, was scarcely five feet away.

I let out a breath, relaxing now that the fight was over. Mustadio strode over to me with a grin, nodding his thanks as he slipping the strange contraption he'd used so effectively in the fight into a sheath made to size.

"Are you all right?" I asked, glancing at him. While I hadn't seen any of the ones chasing him do Mustadio any injury, I couldn't be certain, nor could I know whether or not he'd been injured beforehand.

"Yeah, I think so," he admitted, scratching his chin. He glanced around at the unconscious or dying around us before flashing me a grin. "Thanks for helping me."

"I'm happy to have helped," I admitted, responding to his grin with one of my own. I gestured at the defeated with one hand. "So, who were these people?"

"They are..." He began, blinking as the dead around us began to crystalize. I couldn't find it in myself to feel pity for them: Six on one were poor odds, and even with his corded frame I could tell from his movements that Mustadio was not a trained fighter. He continued, "They were troublemakers hired by Bart Company."

"The importer?" I finally asked, economics lessons from nearly a year ago sparking some trace memory.

"The very same," Mustadio confirmed, shaking his head. "It's not just a trading company, though. They're a criminal syndicate into everything from smuggling to slavery."

"So why were they after you?" I questioned, gesturing to the crystals, eerily hovering around us. "What was that holy stone that they mentioned?"

Mustadio paused, and indecision was clear on his face. He finally shook his head.

"Sorry friend, it's probably best that you don't know. I'll admit that you're more than a fair hand in a fight, but right now that's just not enough. I need to take what I know to someone with some sort of political power," Mustadio concluded. He then offered me his hand. "Mustadio Bunanza, at your service. Or I will be if you're ever in Goug and I'm not dead or on the run."

I took his hand.

"Ramza Beoulve," I returned, enjoying the way his eyes widened rather suddenly at my last name. My grin widened. "Are you sure you still want to turn down my help? I hear that people tend to take my family a little bit seriously when we get involved with something."

"I, you..." Mustadio began, before laughing out loud. He released my hand, slapping my back as we began to walk away from the battlefield. "Okay, fine. I'll admit that perhaps, in your case, you might be able to help me in a way which doesn't involve beating someone to death with those big fists of yours."

I glanced at the buildings damaged. Already the residents were perusing the equipment of our foes and the crystals above with greedy eyes, and I concluded that the money they'd gain from looting the dead, distasteful as the practice was, would more than pay for the damage to their homes.

"Sounds fine to me," I agreed, hastening my step and leading Mustadio back towards the pub at which I'd spent hours whittling away the time. "Let me buy you an ale or two, and you can tell me exactly what sort of trouble I'm going to help you sort out in the next week or so."

"Confident, eh?" Mustadio asked slyly, before smiling. "Then again, you are a Beoulve. If it took you more time than that, no doubt Balbanes would have something to say about it, eh?"

"No doubt my father would," I admitted, again enjoying the way Mustadio's eyes twitched at the casual revelation.

"I'm beginning to think that associating with you is going to require those ales you promised," the ponytailed man admitted, now seemingly a bit nervous.

"Mustadio, you have yet to meet my master," I agreed with a smirk.

I'd spent some time away from the pub, after all. If Tristana had returned in my absence, then Bart Company might be the least of Mustadio's problems.

oOo

Author's Notes:

So Ramza can Kaiten now. No, I'm not going to be ripping off Naruto, it's actually just a function of him combining two regular Monk techniques. I didn't even realize it until after I'd finished writing the scene. Though now that I think about it, Secret Fist + Repeating Fist would make for a damned good Eight Trigrams Sixty-Four Palms ripoff.

Anyhoo, Mustadio is one of my favourite characters and despite the fact that mechanically-speaking he's pretty damned weak he always seems to find a place in my party. Plus the fact that he chooses to hit on Agrias means the dude has some balls of steel, so I can't help but like him just for that. So yeah, the people who were worried about him not appearing: He's here. He's here to stay.


	11. Chapter 11

For Want of a War

Chapter 11: Mustadio

oOo

I did my best to hide my nervousness as I sat at the table with the strange young man who'd come to my aid as I ran from Bart Company's thugs. He was sipping an ale and watching the pedestrian traffic with a casual eye as I picked at a roasted chicken, and I used the opportunity to examine him a little more closely.

To say that he was well-muscled would be a vast understatement. While his frame was still lean, he bore an impressive amount of corded strength there. His arms were almost the same size as my legs, and his blue shirt did little to hide the compact muscle underneath. When combined with my memory of just how easily he'd taken out most of the Bart Company pursuit squad, well... If I thought he was inclined to lurk in dark alleys with ill intent, Ramza Beoulve would be the last man I'd want to run into in one.

Or perhaps the first. Knowing what little I knew of him, it seemed to me that were he in one it would be for the express purpose of safeguarding it. His lack of official nobility seemed, to me, more than made up for with that which was inherent in him.

Technically speaking, this Ramza was not a true Beoulve. The two true Beoulves, Dycedarg and Zalbag, were the only official, legitimate sons of that house. Until a short time ago when he'd saved me, I hadn't even known Ramza's name. Just that Balbanes had two illegitimate children.

I fought to suppress a shudder as I picked at a chicken wing. Lord Dycedarg and Lord Zalbag were renowned far and wide for their martial ability. What the hell kind of monsters were they if their brother, a young man capable ripping through a squad of veterans with ease, didn't even warrant mention in the rumour mills which powered most of the bars and pubs across Ivalice?

"I'm bored," the blond Beoulve groaned, draining his beer. He glanced around the patio at which we were seated, frowning slightly. "Where is Tristana? She should have been here by now."

"Maybe she ran into trouble?" I suggested as the thought occurred to me. I waved a hand. "Zaland might be a fort city, but it's not the safest place in Ivalice. Maybe she got waylaid by somebody?"

It's difficult to describe the array of emotions which played across my companion's face at my suggestion. What, at first, appeared to be dismay gave way to thoughtful contemplation, and then turned to genuine amusement as Ramza began to snicker.

"That might have happened," Ramza said. He tilted his head towards one of the serving girls, slightly shaking his empty cup. "However, if that's the case I'd say she ran into some temporary amusement, not trouble."

"It wouldn't surprise me, seeing you," I muttered with a grin.

"Tristana scares me," my protector admitted with a shrug. "Not much scares me. I must therefor infer that Tristana scares most of the world a great deal. Anybody stupid enough to pick a fight with her deserves every inch of the beating they'd receive."

A weight dropped onto my shoulders then, fine hair brushing my shoulders as a woman used my back as an elbow rest.

"What's this about you deserving a beating?" A dry voice drawled, and I cocked my head to turn towards the woman using me as furniture. Where Ramza was all blocky muscle and power, the redhead perching her arms across my neck seemed to be built for speed and grace. As she circled around to my companion, her movements reminded me of a red panther's: Smooth and silky, but with the promise of violence at any moment.

The woman herself was nothing that would have attracted extraordinary attention. She was dressed in a light blue tunic and loose pants, and were she not moving the way she was, she could have been any of a dozen people walking by. The most remarkable thing about her was her red hair, a relative rarity in our country.

"Not me, Tristana!" Ramza insisted immediately, putting up his hands defensively. "We were merely discussing the potential reasons for your delay, and Mustadio here suggested that you might have been ambushed! I was just saying that anyone who picked a fight with you deserved what they got!"

"Mustadio, huh?" The redhead mused, apparently ignoring most of Ramza's panicked explanation with massive indifference, long practice, or a combination of the two. She sat down on the bench beside the nervous blond, elbowing him. "Where did you pick up this stray?"

"I'm not quite a stray," I interrupted, before Ramza could speak. I was grateful, yes... But not to the point that I'd ignore an insult like that.

"He was being chased, so I helped him out," the Beoulve noted, before the redhead beside him could respond to me. He waved one hand in an expansive gesture. "Right now he's being chased by some thugs from Bart Company. He found something they want. A holy stone or something. I haven't quite gotten the details yet."

The redhead giggled at the explanation. Despite not knowing the woman, somewhere deep inside myself I knew this was a very, very bad sign.

"This is perfect!" Tristana crowed, cackling as she rubbed her hands together. She flashed a broad smile to me. "Thank you very much, young man! You've helped me bring my student to the next level!"

"I have?" I asked, confused.

"He has?" Ramza echoed, his face going pale.

"Ramza! I've decided what you need to do to earn your mastery!" The Beoulve's master said, barreling through our confusion. She slammed a hand onto the table. "Since you've picked a fight with Bart Company, you're going to finish it!"

"What?" I was thoroughly confused.

"What." Ramza looked as astonished and out of it as I felt.

"Bart Company is based out of Goug, right?" Tristana noted to me, smiling when I nodded in confirmation. "Well then, Ramza... Your test is simple! You will escort your new friend to Goug and confront Viscount Rudvich Bart about this little problem!"

I glanced at the Beoulve in front of me, exchanging looks of trepidation with him.

"This is an incredibly bad idea," I noted, gesturing to myself. "I'm not a great fighter. I've got a tool that's a little useful for that kind of thing, but I don't really know much about killing."

"That's why you'll have Ramza with you!" The redhead chirped, smiling as she stood and slapped him on his broad shoulders, causing him to jump a little. She moved him from side to side as she continued, "You point where you need to go, and Ramza makes pointed examples with his fists to Bart Company about why what they're doing is a bad idea! It's perfect!"

This woman was insane. I struggled to come up with something to counter her argument, but found that the complete and total lack of logic in her decision somehow stifled my ability to form words.

"Wasn't I supposed to meet your master and spar with him as a test?" Ramza pointed out, almost pleadingly. He threw an apologetic glance at me before continuing, "I was planning on escorting Mustadio to see Cardinal Draclau to sort out the problem of Bart Company."

"Good point. You're absolutely not allowed to speak with the Cardinal about this," Tristana mused, grinning at the dawning horror on her pupil's face. She reached out and flicked his nose. "Besides, my master can easily kick my ass. There's not a chance in hell you're going to impress him at your level."

Ramza growled as he fought to articulate some thought, starting to speak but stopping several times before he slumped down, abjectly muttering, "Then why did you drag me here in the first place?"

"He was always going to beat you like a dirty rug," Tristana admitted thoughtfully, then patted the boy on the shoulder. "I was hoping you'd impress him a little, at least. This will be a better demonstration of your skills."

"At least this way I know I can get my father back," I mused with a sigh, scratching my head a bit.

"I'll leave you two boys at it, then," the redhead informed us, standing. "My master is located by the east wall on the south side of town. Ask for Old Man Fuu and people around the area will be able to direct you where you need to go. Come see me when you solve Mustadio's problem, Ramza."

And without even waiting for us to reply, she was gone. Ramza raised a hand to his teacher's retreating form before dropping it and glancing at me.

"So... We're going to Goug?" The blond boy asked, grinning weakly.

"It would appear so," I responded glumly.

When Ramza had promised to help me as a Beoulve, I'd been ecstatic. I was a nobody engineer from Goug, and even if my job was a little unusual and unique, it didn't really make me worth notice. With him traveling to see the Cardinal with me, I thought my problems were over.

Yet here I was, no better off than before. Either I could walk a different path from Ramza and try to see Draclau on my own, or I could go with him and try to fight the enemies which had forced me to flee with a boy near my age.

Beoulve or not, the odds were not in our favour.

The odds of getting myself an audience with Cardinal Draclau before being assassinated by Bart Company's thugs were considerably worse.

I drained the tankard of ale in front of me, fighting back the wince after a few seconds.

"More ale!" I called, shaking the empty cup to our waitress. At Ramza's raised eyebrow, I tilted my head to the door. "It's an hour to sunset. Even with you and your big fists, I don't think the two of us wandering the countryside at night is a good idea. I'm going to have a few drinks, and then we're having a good night's rest before we begin this madness."

"We, not you, are going to have a few drinks," the Beoulve replied, tilting his empty cup to the barwench, who dutifully filled it after she'd filled mine. He flashed me a smile. "Zal always said that a noble shouldn't be drinking in a tavern."

Zal? Ah, his brother, Zalbag.

"Good thing I'm not a noble," Ramza concluded, drinking deeply.

I glanced at his mug and then drank a similar amount, raising one eyebrow pointedly at my new companion.

Things degenerated from there.

oOo

Walking through the Zigolis swamp the next day was a reinforcement of two lessons I'd learned previously in life.

The first lesson was one I'd learned only a day previously: If one were desperate enough to use one of the teardrop-shaped, White Mage-blessed Ajora pendants as ammunition in the weapon I used against the undead, the holy blessing was enough to seal any undead in stone with a single shot.

I'd gotten a lot of strange looks at the marketplace in Zaland when I'd bought fifty of those pendants and stuffed them into a pouch, where they were now being used as a rather efficient solution to the undead enemies we now faced. As I sealed the third undead in stone with the third of the shots I'd fired, I couldn't find it in myself to care.

What I did care about was the hangover affecting me. More specifically, the giant nail which was being driven through my skull with every shot I fired.

I glanced over to my companion, who was in similar shape. Although he'd claimed good breeding and his training allowed him to shrug off the effects of his hangover, I noted this was a lie. He appeared to be attempting to drive the hangover in his head away by bashing his head into the skull of the enemy he faced, presumably trying to transfer the pounding in his skull through pure violence.

Even hungover, however, I noted that just the two of us had passed through the undead-haunted swamp with considerable ease. It was almost second nature the way we fit together in a fight: Ramza engaging foes in melee while I prevented him from being overwhelmed by the enemies which closed in on him.

As we bedded down for the night, it made me think that perhaps this mad plan was not so mad after all.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Fixed the previous chapter's heading. It was chapter 10, not 11. Can't believe I did that. Thanks for pointing it out, Akuma-Heika. I r n idjit.

Sorry for the delay. I had an idea for this chapter which, simply put, was not working in the slightest. No matter how hard I tapped at it, it wouldn't come out right. So I had to scrap it and go with something else. And I couldn't really work with the chapters which followed, so I had to delete five chapters worth of work.

That had the expected impact on my productivity.

I'm hoping that my update speed is going to increase, because a chapter every seven months is kinda pathetic. Let's see how it works.


	12. Chapter 12

For Want of a War

Chapter 12: Ramza

oOo

Though yesterday's hangover was long gone, the headache of what to do when Mustadio and I arrived in Goug remained, a headache which only grew as the city drew closer. Mustadio had explained that his father had been kidnapped the previous morning, and I knew enough about Viscount Rudvich Bart to guess that the forces he could bring to bear would be considerable.

No match for a real noble's entourage, of course, but that wasn't something I'd have had normally, let alone right now. Right now what I had was my own considerable skills and a young man who was a very good survivor, but not quite a warrior.

Not yet. Though as I glanced at him, I could admit to myself that were he inclined, he would have a certain knack for it.

When I'd rescued him two days previously, he'd been panicking and frantic. That had not been good for his control, though he'd handled himself well once I'd intervened. Yesterday's battle in the Zigolis swamp had been a far better presentation of his skills.

Even putting aside the trick he'd discovered to use against the undead, he was a remarkable shot with the contraption he had strapped to his side. Better than most of the archers at Gariland, I'd wager, and at a range only a bowman with a considerable height advantage could match.

His weapon and his use of it were good reason for our foes to be wary of him.

The problem was not our skills, but the strategic advantage Rudvich Bart had over us. Mustadio, very obviously, wanted to ensure the safety of his father. However if he were to approach Bart Company on his own to make a trade, he'd be at a great disadvantage in close quarters, and nigh useless if he were disarmed.

Our chances would shrink rapidly from there. With backup, I might be able to do something even without him, but we had none.

Then, a flash of brilliance.

I grinned.

"Mustadio," I began slowly, stopping in my tracks as I spoke. "Has Rudvich, or anyone in his organization ever actually seen you?"

Mustadio frowned as he thought, before shaking his head. "The only ones who saw me face to face are dead. The tracking team lost some members in Zigolis chasing me, before you finished them off in Zaland. They were chosen specifically because they'd seen me before."

"Perfect," I said with a chuckle.

oOo

"Stop fidgeting, you'll rip it!" Mustadio growled, tugging on the odd blue canvas leggings he normally wore.

I was, of course, in danger of ripping the garment because it was currently on me, as was Mustadio's shirt. On the table in the inn room were his gauntlets, belt, and weapon sheath, though he'd cobbled together a fake weapon for me rather than disarming himself.

My genius plan of replacing myself with my new companion had already hit a snag and it didn't bode well for the remainder of the execution, I felt. Simply put, I was quite a bit larger than Mustadio thanks to Tristana's training.

"How do you even wear these?" I grunted, tugging the front up. While I was very thankful that Mustadio and I were of a height, the same could not be said for the girth of our legs or torsos. Where the garments were loose and free on him, on me the seams were strained.

"By not being built like a damned ox," the engineer snapped, helping me tug the back of the overalls up. I felt them rip a bit at the side where they refused to budge at my pectoral muscles. "I am not getting these back, am I?"

"That is a likely outcome of this," I admitted bluntly as I twisted to look at him. "Look on the bright side, Mustadio: You're lucky I've got similar hair to yours. Without that, I doubt this plan would work at all."

"I still have my doubts," Mustadio muttered dryly, standing and tugging the shirt I wore into place. Thankfully the sleeves, at least, were loose enough to be somewhat comfortable. He took a step back. "How does it feel?"

I took a few steps, twisting and stretching to and fro as I did.

"Like I'm going to spill out my unmentionables at the outset of any fight," I growled, prompting my new companion to laugh. He had good reason to do so: He was wearing a spare outfit I'd had in my traveling bag, something I'd acquired in Dorter while Tristana and I had been making our way to Zaland.

A simple blue tunic, brown slacks, and a grey hooded cloak for rain. The hood would help conceal his true identity, and given the approaching rain it wouldn't even look too out of place. I tried not to hate him for how loose and comfortable his pants looked in comparison to the trap I now found myself wearing.

"Ramza..." Here, my comrade's voice nearly broke. He shifted uncomfortably as my eyes found his, breaking the contact to look at the ground. "Can we really do this? Two of us against Bart Company's thugs?"

I stepped forward and clapped my hand on his shoulder, causing the maudlin boy to flinch.

"Bart Company won't know what him them," I promised. My eyes met his. "You remember the plan, yes?"

"After you turn yourself in as 'me', you're going to lead Rudvich and his men to the hidden stone in the slums. If my father is reasonably safe, you'll apologize to me for getting caught," Mustadio recited, the act seeming to calm him. "We'll start the ambush on my first shot. You'll stay in close and I'll support you."

"And if we're lucky, if the Viscount wants the stone badly enough, he might just be stupid enough to be on hand for the ambush," I concluded with a smirk. "If he is, that makes taking him captive that much easier."

Mustadio handed me the belt and sheath for his strange weapon, which I donned before pulling on his gloves. The outfit, combined with the light oil in my hair to keep it slicked back, would make me a double for Mustadio, or at least for the description the Viscount had.

It wasn't perfect, but I judged that the deception would hold long enough to be of use to us. In a worst-case scenario, I expected the ruse to be discovered if Besrodio couldn't catch on quickly enough when he was reunited with his 'son'... However, assuming Rudvich Bart wasn't completely paranoid, I judged my odds good that I could extract Mustadio's father from trouble.

I clenched my right hand into a fist.

"I'm ready. Let's begin," I informed my comrade.

We left the inn, Mustadio making his way to the slums to pick out an ideal vantage point for the ambush, and I to turn myself in to Bart Company's tender mercies.

Even if I was confident as I strode through Goug, I knew that this wasn't the best plan I'd ever devised.

oOo

The beating Rudvich and his men gave me would have been harsh for a young engineer with no martial training. Even if I hadn't been using my chakra to heal myself, the beating wasn't anything worse than what I used to get sparring with Zal back at Igros. Certainly not enough to break me.

However with no sign of Mustadio's father, I pretended to break and promised to tell Rudvich Bart everything I knew. The poor, fat, simpleton bought it with more ease than I could have hoped for. He didn't even bother to bind my hands, a fact at which it took all of my considerable composure not to laugh.

We made our way to the slums, myself being pushed along by the thug behind me.

He'd jabbed me with his daggers a couple of times already. Not hard, but just enough to break the skin. I planned to hit him first. As he jabbed me once more while my captors and I turned a corner, I reflected that perhaps I would be striking him second, third, and fourth, as well.

Over my shoulder, I could see that a hooded man, his arms bound behind his back, was being pulled along with us. I assumed this to be Mustadio's father, but couldn't be sure. Even with the hood off, I couldn't have been sure, so I suppose it was a good thing he couldn't see me.

It didn't take us long. Fifteen minutes, perhaps.

As we approached the area where I'd told Rudvich I'd stashed the stone, I took careful stock of my foes. Neither of the thugs he'd chosen to come with us posed much of a threat to me... Nor did I think much of the two archers: Neither woman had the sort of bearing I associated with my archery teacher.

The two who were my greatest concern at the moment were the Summoners Rudvich had in his employ. Both men had powerful magic robes pulled tight around them, and I knew anyone who'd earned the power to summon would be a dangerous foe. If this ambush was to work, they would have to die first.

Naturally, as I thought this, the Viscount ordered them to hang back so as not to spoil their presence against any ambush. Of course. I didn't let any reaction show on my face at the newest development, but I really wanted to just punch Rudvich in his fat face right then and there.

Spotting Mustadio's cloaked form sitting on a nearby collapsed church, Rudvich ordered his archers to flank around an abandoned shanty as we approached.

"This is the one who has my stone, Mustadio?" The Viscount demanded, glaring at me.

"Is that my father?" I retorted, jerking my head to the hooded man. The thug holding him ripped off the hood when Rudvich gestured, and in the corner of my eye I saw Mustadio nod once, deliberately. Besrodio's eyes widened a bit at the sight of me, but he didn't say anything or give any other indication that I wasn't his son.

Apparently he was cut from the same cloth as Mustadio. I nodded to him once, and he had time to return it before the man holding him cuffed him in the back of the head and shoved him into the shack on which we stood.

Good. That would make things simple.

"Now give me the stone, or I kill Mustadio and his father!" Rudvich demanded, walking right beside me. Mustadio paused, catching my eye.

"Sorry I got caught," I muttered to my new friend. Mustadio nodded in reply, drawing something from his cloak.

Not the holy stone.

His gun.

Before the fat bastard could do more than gasp in surprise, I shattered his knee with a kick and hurled him off the roof of the shack, grinning as the loud crack of Mustadio's weapon was followed an instant later by the nearest thug's weapon dropping as his arm was demolished at the elbow.

I followed through with my earlier promise, closing in on him and using the repeated punching technique Tristana taught me. I hit him far more than four times.

"Mustadio, we've got archers flanking us and Rudvich has two summoners bringing up the rear!" I yelled, closing with the other thug the Bart Company leader had seen fit to bring. He was surprisingly quick with his dagger, scoring a line along my flank with a stab.

Pity he'd held his blade perpendicular to the ground instead of parallel. If he were trained properly, that could have been a lung shot. I capitalized on his mistake by disarming him and wrenching his shoulder out of the socket, before punching him three times in the face.

He wasn't dead, but by the time he awoke he might well wish he were.

Another echoing shot from Mustadio prompted me to turn my head. He had a gash in his arm where an arrow must have just missed him. His eyes went from me to something behind me.

"I'm fine! You get those summoners!" He yelled angrily. I noted that one of the archers he was engaging had a hole just above her knee and nodded. He fired another shot, missing the other archer he faced by less than an inch and throwing her hair in disarray.

I spun to find the summoners, glaring at me and chanting.

My only hope was the spin fist. I charged in with a roar, and noted sourly that neither man flinched. This would come down to speed. Was I fast enough to get in close and finish them before they could finish their chant? Or would I be obliterated by the magic they commanded?

I got in close.

No time for the earth slash variant.

I spun, and the first summoner fell as my fist smashed through the staff he tried to block me with and caved in his ribs. He fell with an anguished scream. The second ducked and flinched, but somehow managed to deflect my arm and continue chanting all at the same time.

He stopped chanting as I stopped spinning.

I looked up.

Ramuh glared down at me.

There was a flash of light and then-

_Pain._

Heat like a fire spell flashed through my entire body, muscles locking and twitching as the full might of the esper's magic ripped through me. The borrowed clothing I wore tore to shreds as every muscle in my body flexed at once, and the roof on which we battled was turned to rubble from the might of the spell.

Scarcely a step from me, the remaining living summoner smirked at me as he witnessed the power of his spell.

And then it was over.

And I was still standing.

The man had the time to chant only the first syllable of what I recognized to be a bolt spell before I seized him by the throat and squeezed. He gasped a bit, slapping feebly at my arms, before I decided the process was taking too long and I headbutted him until he stopped moving.

I let the corpse fall, dropping to my knees with a groan.

"Ramza!" Mustadio's voice sounded a little distant, but I raised my head and saw him sprinting towards me. Nearby I could see one of the archers bleeding out, and I assumed the other was either beyond my view or had simply fled the conflict. The blond boy stared at me with wide eyes, grasping at a pouch. "Holy shit...

"Drink these, now!" I fumbled with the three potions in my hand, spilling a bit before chugging them one after the other. The dizziness in my head cleared a bit, and I glanced down at myself.

No wonder Mustadio had been concerned. I could still see where Ramuh's lightning had pierced my skin, based on the bloody streaks. Worse yet was the soot, which covered every inch of my body and the shredded remains of my borrowed outfit. I moved, and still felt the damage the spell had wrought on my body.

I tried to focus on my chakra, to get it working on healing my body, but my mind was still too disoriented and my body still too wracked with pain to reach the clarity I needed to do so.

"Would you happen to have a few more?" I asked, slowly climbing to my feet. I took the remaining two potions my companion offered, slowly drinking them both and sighing in relief as I felt more of my wounds heal.

"I thought you were dead when that spell hit," Mustadio admitted with a bit of a chuckle. He slapped a hand on the pouch at his side. "I thought I might have to use a phoenix down on you."

"I might have preferred death to living through that," I noted with a groan. Then I grinned as a glorious, welcome sound reached my ears: Rudvich's bleating screams. "Well... We've won the battle, but we still don't know why the good Viscount was after you. Should we go ask him?"

"I have a number of questions for him, I'll admit," Mustadio answered with a broad smile.

We began walking before I paused, causing my companion to turn to me.

"Damn," I cursed, one hand flying to my crotch to protect myself from the wind. "I knew that would happen."

Mustadio took one look at the shredded remains of his pants and laughed.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Not much to say, folks. I'll see about banging out another chapter by the end of this weekend.

One thing I'd like to add... I did look it up, and yes, the summons in Ivalice are Espers. Just an FYI.


	13. Chapter 13

For Want of a War

Chapter 13: Ramza

oOo

Hours later, wearing a spare set of loose clothing I'd found, I sat with Mustadio as we waited for Rudvich Bart to awaken. On the table in front of us lay some cards: Shortly after arriving, I'd taught Mustadio King's Game and we were now gambling with a small pile of gil each.

Despite learning the game less than two hours ago, Mustadio had proven himself an apt, perhaps even treacherous pupil. Each of us had put five hundred gil into the pot to begin, and he was now proudly sitting on roughly twenty-three hundred.

I'd been forced to buy my way back into the game three times thus far... and unless I missed my mark, this hand would likely fare no better for me. With a scowl, I tossed my cards down, folding the hand, and instead reached for my mug of ale, drinking deeply.

Mustadio had produced a bottle of the stuff shortly into the game. Not enough to render even one of us drunk and inattentive, let alone the two of us sharing, but enough to relax us a tad as we waited.

Our prisoner was currently tied to a chair, strips of his former clothing binding his hands and feet, leaving the corpulent man in nothing but his smallclothes. His leg, broken during his capture, had gone unhealed by magic in favour of a simple splint for the time being. I'd taken the liberty of loosely gagging him, enough that he couldn't properly scream yet could emit loud grunts and poorly enunciated pleas when he awoke.

We were not presently in the sort of place in the city where muffled screams would be investigated.

Mustadio's father, Besrodio, on the other hand, was currently far away from our temporary hideout. We'd left him with sufficient gil to stay at a very nice inn in the upper quarter, with instructions to stay there for a month unless we returned beforehand. The humble engineer had initially protested, noting that the accommodations were far too refined for his sort.

His intelligence overrode his humility when I pointed out that it was precisely for that reason that he would be recovering there.

It was roughly when I began considering giving up my foray into King's Game with Mustadio for something a little less costly, such as dumping my gil directly into the ditch outside, that Bart finally began to stir.

Frowning at the off-suit three and seven in my hand, I tilted my head towards the fat man and Mustadio nodded with a groan, pocketing a little less than four thousand gil for his trouble. I stood and walked in front of our bound prisoner, squatting lightly so that my eyes were level with his.

I knew this would be an interesting interrogation when he narrowed his eyes rather than widening them. He still thought he possessed a measure of control over the situation, stripped practically bare and with his broken leg unhealed.

I would have to disabuse him of that notion. I yanked the gag free from his mouth, allowing him to speak.

"You dog. You don't know who you've enraged by this. I will see you dead for this indignity," Rudvich spat, a little bit of spittle splashing my face. I briefly considered gagging him again, before discarding the idea.

Then I broke his foot with a sharp stomp, his threats devolving into wordless, pain-filled screams.

During interrogation training at Gariland, I'd been taught that gagging an uncooperative subject allowed them to feel the full weight of their pain, while allowing them to scream allowed them to mitigate the pain, but if their cries went unanswered it would demoralize the torture victim as they would quickly come to the conclusion that no help was on the way.

As the leader of Bart Company's screams faded into pained gasps, I smiled at him. It struck me as funny that a course designed to allow a captured noble to resist torture would instead allow that same person to be so effective at performing it.

"Rudvich. You've been a very bad man," I informed the keening bastard jovially, reaching out and patting him on one shoulder. He flinched, but I paid it no mind. I stood to my full height, and his head tilted to track me as I did. "Now who put you up to it?"

He continued to pant, wordless. After a moment, I tilted my head towards his unbroken knee.

"Shall I provide you with more motivation?" I asked politely, bending and flicking the indicated joint.

"Mustadio, please..." The silver-haired man pled to me, flinching away. "You have your father back... Can't you let me go?"

A dry chuckle behind me caught Rudvich's attention as Mustadio stepped closer.

"Actually, my stout friend here is not Mustadio. That would be me, actually," my engineer friend noted with a wry grin. He flopped onto a nearby crate and rested his jaw on one fist. He savoured the way Bart's jaw quivered before he continued. "In fact, even with my father back, I'm not sure he's inclined to forgive you your trespasses. You do remember having your men beat him, yes?"

Rudvich's eyes were looking wild at this point, as they flickered from my comrade to myself. No doubt the experience was terribly confusing for the criminal.

"I'm... I'm-I'm sorry!" The head of Bart company sputtered, attempting to bow to me despite being bound hand and foot in a chair. He only succeeded in proving that perhaps his ancestry contained a measure of bullfrog, his grotesque neck pushing out with each nod of his head.

"What do you think, Mustadio?" I asked, indicating the profusely apologetic man. My new friend considered him for a moment, meeting the fat man's eyes as Rudvich trailed off in his apologies, pleading with the engineer with watery eyes.

"I think I remember dreaming of having him in a situation remarkably similar to this one, back when he had his dogs chasing me down to capture or kill me," Mustadio noted darkly. He got up and stepped closer to Rudvich, drawing his weapon and placing the barrel directly against the man's uninjured knee. "I also think I'm smart enough to realize that simply cutting him loose after a half-assed apology is just going to get me and my father killed later. I think he and I need to settle this account properly before I'll see any sort of peace."

"No..." Rudvich moaned. I ignored him.

"I do believe you're right, Mustadio," I admitted, rubbing my chin and taking a step back. I reached out a foot, tapping the knee my friend was aiming at. "Now Rudvich, let's make this quick so we can heal you and be on our way. You're not a known collector of holy artifacts, so chasing Mustadio down for this holy stone he's got isn't your style. There's no profit in it for you, unless someone's told you to keep an eye out for them. So who wants them?"

"He'll kill me. I can't!" The head of Bart company protested. Mustadio caught my look and nodded once, his finger squeezing on the lever of his weapon. In the closed room, the thunder of the weapon shooting was multiplied, and it took a moment for my hearing to clear before I could make out Rudvich's pained screams.

I slapped him. Hard. Once again reduced to pained keening as he stared at me in horror, I gripped his jaw as Mustadio began to bandage the wound he'd made.

"You seem to be under the impression that we won't," I informed the man, his eyes meeting mine. I squeezed a bit, ignoring the drool running over my knuckles. "Do you even know what sort of mess you now find yourself in? Do you even know what sort of forces have been put into motion by your actions?"

"Who... Who are you?" Rudvich moaned to me, and he shuddered as I grinned.

"Rudvich Bart, I'm pleased to introduce my good friend Ramza Beoulve," Mustadio announced with a flourish, enjoying the way the man's face went pale. And with good reason, at that.

Certainly, I wasn't the first bastard produced from a prominent family. While some are indeed left with their birth mothers, perhaps even as much as the majority, said prominent families will often find other uses for those born as I was: As spies, saboteurs, and even assassins. Embroiled in the family affairs while also being uniquely deniable, a bastard could be sent places where no ordinary spy or assassin could ever hope to be allowed... And should their work be discovered, well... They aren't actually family. It's easy enough to leave them to their fate and deny all responsibility.

Those thoughts and more were going through Rudvich Bart's mind, I could tell.

He knew of me vaguely, I was sure, but I was also such an unknown compared to my brothers that it must have appeared that my father was hiding me. Especially given the way I'd vanished with Tristana. Now I was here, with a monk's skills... And most nobles knew that monks made the best assassins: No need for a weapon when you could just harm your target barehanded, or even just press a few pressure points and watch as they died moments later.

In short, to anyone who didn't know my father or myself personally, I would have appeared to be exactly the sort of bastard I wanted Rudvich to think I was.

He knew I'd already infiltrated his security and led him into a trap, and as the man panted and took me in he realized precisely how much trouble this situation could lead him into.

Killing a couple no-name engineers from Goug? Why, even if he'd been more blatant it wouldn't have raised a fuss with anyone important. They were commoners, and even if Rudvich did have an unsavoury reputation he was still a noble: Nobody would ask too many uncomfortable questions. Within a month the matter would have been swept under the rug, and within three it would have been forgotten.

However, my very presence changed everything. Just by being here, Rudvich wasn't just killing off a couple commoners any longer. He was involving himself in business which could lead to his ruination even if I were to cut him loose right now.

Short of Larg, Goltana, and the High Priest Funeral, there weren't many, if any existed at all, for whom Bart would be willing to keep his mouth shut in the presence of a Beoulve. He knew it, and as his eyes met mine, he knew that I knew it as well.

"You will give me a name before we're through, regardless of what you think you will or won't do at the moment," I informed him bluntly. I reached out and flicked the recently-shot knee, eliciting a pained whimper. "The only question which remains is how much pain you're willing to endure before you do finally break."

"I've got money on not much more," Mustadio added with a nasty smirk. He was hiding his discomfort at the situation well, and likely only because the man we were torturing would have done worse to him and his father if he'd had the chance. However, days spent in his company let me see just how pale he was. His hand barely trembled as he slowly reloaded his weapon. "However, please... Feel free to prove me wrong."

Bart whimpered, his head rapidly turning from myself to my companion, finding not an ounce of pity to split between the pair of us. His head dropped.

"Draclau. Cardinal Draclau wants the stone," Rudvich finally admitted, almost sobbing with the confession. "Four, maybe five months ago, he came to me with an offer. Money and favours, if I could just find the artifact he was looking for. I was supposed to send it to him with a trusted courier when it was found."

I grinned a bit, walking over to the shelf where we'd placed the good viscount's belongings. His gil had long since been split between Mustadio and I while I taught my friend King's Game, but we'd left Bart's rings and necklaces alone. I picked up the Bart Company signet ring, bouncing it thoughtfully in my hand as I turned back to our prisoner.

"You're in luck. Mustadio, free his hand. Your dominant hand is your right, is it not?" I asked Rudvich politely, reveling in his confusion. I dragged a table over. "You are going to write us a letter of introduction for the Cardinal. You will only state that we bring the item he asked you to find."

I waited for him to write the letter, then read it. I then made him rewrite the letter with words of my choosing, changing the structure of key phrases and even using synonyms for words. At the sick look on the viscount's face, I knew he'd tried to harm us one last time, even now, by using a code word to signal treachery.

Sly man. The look of terror on his face as I made him rewrite the letter made it plain that he realized I'd found him out.

"So that's it, right? You'll let me free now?" Rudvich pleaded, to which I responded with a dark laugh.

"Of course not," I replied simply, enjoying the way his face fell. "At least, not yet. I don't trust you not to betray us the moment we release you, you see. In a week, someone will be along to cut you free. Whether it's Mustadio and I to finish what we've started tonight, or someone else coming to set you free will depend entirely on whether or not what you just told us was a lie."

Mustadio hefted a large water skin, which he set on Rudvich's shoulder. Using the rags we'd gagged him with before, we secured his mouth and left the bulk of the water resting on his shoulder, propped with ropes.

"As long as you don't struggle too much over the next week, you'll have enough water to survive. Try to escape, and..." I trailed off, with a significant look towards the water skin. It was secure if he didn't struggle too much. If he tried to break free, the skin would fall to the ground long before he freed himself. "Well, you know your options. I'd suggest that you try to make it last."

A fat man like Bart could probably go a month without food. Water was another matter entirely. Without something to drink, he'd be dead inside of three days. With the water skin tied to his shoulder, as long as he didn't squander it, he could easily last more than the week we'd told him he'd have to endure his current situation.

It wouldn't be pleasant, but he'd survive. We'd leave Besrodio with instructions to come by in a week to check up on things.

Ignoring the sweating man behind us, Mustadio and I gathered our things leaving him to his fate as we marched towards our own, the introduction letter in hand, sealed with Viscount Rudvich Bart's own ring.

We had a meeting with a Cardinal to attend, and many questions to ask.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Not much to say. I hope this was enjoyable for you to read.


	14. Chapter 14

For Want of a War

Chapter 14: Mustadio

oOo

"Ramza, we agreed that we were going to confront the Cardinal about his connection to Bart Company. You said that with your family's influence, he wouldn't dare to have us summarily jailed," I stated, nodding to the blond next to me. He mutely nodded, as if distracted by something.

"You said that, if things should become a worst case scenario, we might leave our meeting with Cardinal Draclau unsatisfied with his answers and having to look over our shoulders for assassins for a length of time," I continued. Once more, Ramza simply gestured his agreement with my statement of facts, not even looking at me.

I let myself be pulled along as the youngest male Beoulve suddenly grabbed me by the collar, hauling me from where we'd sought refuge behind the ruins of a desk to sprint away as a hellish shriek pierced the air, and dark energy my mind simply refused to fathom tore into the space we'd been hiding, somehow reducing it to nothingness despite not shattering the furniture in any way.

One moment the desk was there, and the next there was a smoking crater in the floor.

"You never mentioned a Lucavi in any of these plans!" I snapped, closing the breach on my gun. The demon which had been the Cardinal had tracked us with those beady eyes, and I raised my weapon and fired the blessed pendant I'd loaded it with. Despite the chain and the lopsided packing job I'd done, my aim was remarkably true, and the creature shrieked in a manner which made me want to vomit my soul out of my mouth as I took one of its eyes, the wound bubbling and issuing black smoke instead of bleeding.

"Plans change!" Ramza grunted in reply, letting go of my collar to pitch a desk into the air. I caught myself on an end table, watching as the Beoulve followed the thrown piece of furniture. Had he lashed out with all of his strength, he would have shattered the desk completely: Instead, in a moment I'm not sure I actually followed, his leg seemed to slow for an instant as his foot made contact, and instead of shattering the writing table was hurled with remarkable force towards our otherworldly foe, finally breaking only when the fat Lucavi struck the rearmost wall, chunks of wood creating an echo in the room.

"So what's the plan now?" I asked, firing another shot. It destroyed the demon's knee, and Draclau's possessed body fell face first to the floor.

"Our long range strategy has proven ineffective. It distresses me to say it, but I think I may have to close with the creature," Ramza admitted with a wince. I didn't blame him. We were very much alone, at the moment: The letter Ramza had presented to the Lionel troops had seen us escorted to a little-used wing of the castle. Once the Cardinal had come to the conclusion that we knew what game he was playing, he had grabbed his own Holy Stone from the table and transformed into the nightmare we now faced.

He didn't bleed for long. His wounds were recovering right before our eyes. And he knew this fact disheartened us, if the smile on his face was any indication of his feelings on our current exchange. He slowly rose to his feet, grabbing the folds of his corpulent stomach and ripping it open, shrieking phantoms fleeing from the abyss of his gut to shatter the surroundings as Ramza once more dragged me away, saving my life and keeping me in the fight.

"Left eye, Mustadio!" Ramza hissed, darting to my right. I complied with his order, taking the monstrosity's sight for but a few moments. The Beoulve heir took vicious advantage of this, darting in and demonstrating the same sort of skills he'd shown the first time I'd met him, when he'd torn through Rudvich Bart's tracking squad in a handful of breaths.

One punch pushed our foe against the wall, and a follow up knee robbed the creature of any breath, pressing it flat against the brick and mortar. It was then that a brief corona of energy surrounded my partner, the same energy he'd used when he'd taken out the tracking squad. However instead of spinning in place and directing that insane power in a sphere of destruction around himself, Ramza began to strike Draclau with repeated blows, blasting the man-turned-Lucavi straight through the wall in a torrent of stone.

I joined my friend at the hole in the wall, looking out to the courtyard where the demon was slowly rising to his feet amidst the rubble, near forty feet down. While the results were impressive, Ramza's latest offensive was apparently very draining: He grabbed my shoulder, using it as leverage to rise to his feet. Our fight had apparently been quite the commotion: Lionel Knights were now streaming into the garden, drawing their swords in shock at the sight of the creature before them.

One charged and was killed in a single strike, flung into a stone bench. Unless we got to her soon, she would be beyond saving. The other knights backed off, suddenly wary of the foe they faced.

"We have to help them," Ramza growled, and I snapped the breach of my weapon shut in reply. As Ramza jumped down with a war cry, I snapped a shot at Draclau's left foot, taking his stability from him and granting the knights facing him a moment's reprieve.

I didn't bother to reload. Instead, I jumped to a nearby rose trellis and ignored the thorns stabbing through my gloves as the wooden structure lurched dangerously, my heart in my chest as my impromptu ladder separated from the stone wall by nearly a foot before settling in place. I'm sure the climb down took me no more than a few seconds, but it was the longest, most drawn-out experience of my life and the feel of dirt underneath my boots was more gratifying than anything I've felt in my short life.

I spun to find Ramza skidding across the flagstones towards me. I didn't have time to pack another amulet, so I jumped over the Beoulve bastard as I quickly loaded some regular shot into my gun, snapping it shut and firing without aiming at Draclau's face.

Perhaps luck saved my life here, for whatever incantation my enemy was chanting was cut short as my shot destroyed his jaw. A pained, rage-filled shriek shook me to my marrow as Draclau's possessed, bloated form simply charged me head on.

I'd seen what he'd done to Ramza, and I was not nearly as hardy as he, nor was I foolish enough to think that a close-quarters encounter with the Lucavi would end in anything but my body being smeared across numerous flagstones. I knew it and so did my foe. Which is why responding in kind to the creature's charge with a full-on run of my own was the last thing it expected. My hands fumbled as I tried to reload, screaming wordlessly.

I wasn't fast enough to have my weapon ready before we would have met, but that was never my intention. I'd been timing his run, and threw myself into a slide on his left side as his right foot touched ground. I dropped my bag of black powder, shoving a handful of it into my weapon as I passed beneath his raised leg: Not fast enough for my liking however, as his leg slammed down into my left shoulder, shattering the limb in a moment of blinding pain.

I drowned my shriek of pain out in my own mind, shakily raising my weapon.

I'd intended to take out his knee. Instead, I barely grazed his ankle. It was still enough, as it threw off his footing long enough for Ramza to rejoin the fight with a punch he ground square into the creature's face.

"Mustadio, save her!" Ramza commanded, "I'm fine!"

I knew he was far from fine, but the Beoulve's tone would brook no argument. Despite the blinding pain in my shoulder and my fear, I found myself at the dead knight's side with a phoenix down before I even allowed myself to begin to process the insanity of my situation. As the newly-revived woman stumbled to her feet, I quaffed a healing potion and felt the relief of my shattered joint knitting shut.

My hands still shook with phantoms of the pain I'd been suffering from not moments ago, but I was able to place the bullet in the gun with ease. It was only when I went to pack powder inside that I realized I'd dropped my bag.

Ramza, meanwhile, was demonstrating the reason the Beoulve name is so feared as he attempted to beat a Lucavi to death with nothing more than his fists and sheer, stubborn willpower. None of the knights dared to approach, although two of them had begun to chant spells of some sort in support of my stalwart friend.

Without my weapon, I was useless. But the bag I needed to make myself useful again was just a dozen feet away. I ran for it with grim determination, my eye on the fight the entire time.

Ramza was beginning to get overwhelmed. While he was fast and strong, unbelievably so, just one glancing blow sent him tumbling across the paving stones of the garden. He coughed up red, but his eyes found our foe and he gracelessly threw himself away before the bench was devoured with the same dark energy which had plagued us from the outset of the battle.

In an instant, the bare-fisted fighter was back on his feet and sprinting at the demon, ducking under a sweeping arm blow to rapidly pummel the thing's ribs. If it had ribs, and not an unending nightmare below the skin. Whatever the case, it did seem to be growing concerned with the amount of damage being inflicted on it.

I took it as a good sign, that we could win. It was no invulnerable demon sent to destroy us, like the scriptures said the Lucavi were.

"Ramza! Shove this down his throat!" I shouted, as I finished loading my weapon before I threw the bag of black powder to my comrade. He caught the bag with an ease I found myself envying, spinning under a downward blow from his enemy so he was behind it. Two kicks temporarily shattered the creature's knees, dropping it to a sitting position as I ran towards it.

His fist disappeared down the mouth of the creature and emerged an instant later, and it coughed a puff of powder out as I reached it, a swollen hand rising to pry the sack in it's mouth out. Ramza grabbed the hand and spun around the creature, destroying the elbow joint as I shoved the barrel of my weapon down the Lucavi's throat.

I pulled the trigger, Ramza and I both flinching as I blew Cardinal Draclau's head clean off of his shoulders.

The unbroken hand reached up and grabbed my hand, and I could only stare at it incredulously as the Lucavi's body shuddered, trying to get it's feet back underneath it. It's head was _gone._ As a man dedicated to unlocking the mysteries of life, I wanted to call shenanigans on the events which were transpiring:

There was _no way _this thing wasn't dead.

It didn't agree.

However, Ramza did. He shoved his hand down the open wound of the Lucavi's regenerating neck, and then ripped the holy stone out of the creature's body, viscera still clinging to it. Neither the illegitimate Beoulve nor myself expected an explosion, as our foe detonated with the fury of a Flare spell.

I survived. Barely. Ramza did as well, and were I in a better mood the shocked look on his face would have caused me to laugh, embedded as he was in the garden wall. He shook himself free of the crater, absently pocketing the stone in his hand as he stumbled to where I lay.

I took his offered hand, groaning in unison with him as the effort of standing nearly drained me.

"The Lucavi killed the Cardinal, and we don't know about these stones," Ramza informed me, blue eyes glittering as the Lionel knights shook off their amazement and finally deigned to offer us some form of assistance, even as belated as it was.

I nodded once, and Ramza grinned.

oOo

Even with the testimony of the knights in attendance and the revelation that Ramza was a member of the Beoulve family, it took several days for the remaining Lionel authorities to release us. It wasn't every day that a Cardinal was assassinated by a Lucavi, according to the story we told.

Obviously there was some doubt, but the room where Draclau had undergone his transformation and the courtyard where the fight was finished were a mute testament to our ordeal, never mind the obvious support of the knights who'd marginally helped us escape death.

Eventually though, we were released. I stood with Ramza at a crossroads, one which lead to my hometown of Goug, and the other of which lead to the north. To Ivalice proper, where things were obviously not at all alright if a Cardinal of St. Ajora's church could be corrupted by a Lucavi.

On the other hand... What sort of Romandan man would turn his back on the events I'd faced?

"Thank you for you help, Mustadio," Ramza informed me, slapping my shoulder. He patted the two holy stones in his pouch for emphasis. "I'll let my father know what we're dealing with. If anyone can sort things out, it's him. Give your father my regards when you see him."

Ramza turned and began walking away and for a moment, I considered accepting his offer.

I could leave, meet up with my father, and then pretend I'd never seen the things I'd seen. I could let him face what he'd said he'd face himself, but...

Rather than moving towards Goug, I found myself hurrying to catch Ramza.

I hooked my arm around Ramza's neck as I caught up with the Beoulve, and grunted in surprise at the sight of me.

"No man from Romanda could possibly let a friend walk away without repaying his debt," I informed him, grinning at his confusion. I released him and matched his pace. "I'll be with you until the end of this, I should think."

Ramza just chuckled and rechecked his backpack straps.

oOo

Author's Notes

Fun chapter. Apologies for the delay.


	15. Chapter 15

For Want of a War

**Quick Note: I released a chapter only a few days ago, so if you missed Ramza and Mustadio's confrontation with Draclau, you should probably head back a chapter!**

Chapter 15: Celia

oOo

To be a holder of the one of the twelve stones meant that your mind would soon be filled with the knowledge to summon and bind lesser minions to your cause. As an Ultima Demon, myself and my sister Lede were bound to be summoned for that very purpose sooner or later. Our existence in hell was a simple one of observance to Altima, and the knowledge and magic we slowly amassed were all in service to her.

That said, it was no surprise when I and my sister felt the summons. The stones had been moving around Ivalice for a time, and a number of hosts had already summoned some of our fellow demons: It was only a matter of time before we were summoned as well.

I nodded once to Lede, and allowed myself to be summoned to Ivalice.

To no great surprise, part and parcel of the summons included a human disguise form. Also not a surprise, but a little annoyingly, the form I was being summoned into was that of a comely human girl in dancer's silks. I was aware of the nature of the sort of man who would summon myself and my sister into such forms and was already lowering my estimation of him as a result.

Even within the frail confines of a human body I was an assassin, a being of unparalleled strength and speed. It was beneath me to act like a harlot, and being summoned into such a form disgusted me more than a little. If my master was a possessor of a stone he likely had the resources to secure an actual harlot.

The spell was complete, and my sister and I kneeled before the man who'd summoned us. Marquis Elmdor, my mind supplied to me. Immediately I knew he was not privy to the full scope of the spell he'd cast to summon us, for he was not girded for battle.

Perhaps he'd been distracted, or perhaps his awareness of the precise nature of the spell he'd cast had escaped him. Whatever the case, he was missing one crucial fact about the summons he'd issued: In order to bind the contract, it wasn't enough for us to simply appear before him and accept.

He had to triumph over us through **force**. He had to prove himself our superior. Lede charged immediately, and the Marquis barely got his sheathed blade up in time to deflect her punch. Not half bad, but he wasn't prepared for my follow up kick to his face.

He slid back, his muscles locking as he forced himself to remain upright. Certainly he'd proven himself a proper, linked stone holder with that: I'd been aiming to break his neck with the blow, and I should have succeeded with my attempt upon connecting with a normal human.

"How dare you disobey me!" The man growled, drawing his blade and discarding the sheath. "I am the partner to Valera! You will fall in line, now!"

"Valera should have told you about Ultima Demons, then..." I hissed, my sister mirroring my move as I spun to the man's left. He swung, and it took all of the considerable skill I had to dodge. Lede had no sword to avoid, however, and drove an elbow into the man's temple, stumbling him back and allowing me to recover. "The holder of a stone must earn our allegiance through combat. The summoning isn't enough, as it is with lesser creatures from our domain!"

The Marquis' eyes widened at that, and we were on him.

Perhaps if he'd been more mature as one of the Lucavi-possessed, he could have overcome us despite his current handicap. Certainly the knowledge that he would have had to fight us to claim us would have helped as he was very vulnerable without his armour, if the powerful magic in his sword was any indication of his resources: With armour of a similar enchantment, I'm certain my sister and I would have lost with ease. Even as skilled as we were, we were not the bearers of Holy Stones.

However, he did not wear such armour.

I had spent a decade learning the arts of the samurai, and so when the Marquis swung his sword at me I caught it in my palms, my magically enhanced muscles trembling as I crouched, the edge of his impressive sword dancing dangerously near my flesh. Lede's grin was feral as she closed from behind Elmdor, employing the assassin arts to systematically damage his organs with fast, precise strikes.

It would have killed a normal man. As it was Valera's partner sank to his knees, coughing up blood.

I was not permitted to kill him. That didn't mean I wasn't annoyed by his presumption in summoning me. I was no harlot, and to be garbed and formed as one offended me. My kick knocked him unconscious, and I sighed in relief.

The magic which bound me to him was dissipated. However, the larger spell which bound me to Ivalice demanded that I seek the holder of a stone. Specifically, it granted myself and my sister an awareness of the locations of other stone holders until our contracts were sealed.

Several gleamed in our consciousness, and for a moment I was tempted to just begin heading to the nearest. It was then that my sister grabbed my arm, smiling.

"Do you feel it, Celia?" Lede demanded, urgent. I concentrated more.

Interesting.

"Whoever holds the two stones isn't the closest, but they must be the most interesting. Don't you agree?" My twin asked, smirking.

I did. For creatures with a life span better measured in centuries and not years, there was precious little which would qualify as interesting to myself or my sister. Anything which did catch our interest was bound to be worth investigating.

Thus, we were off.

oOo

As greater demons, nor my sister or I strictly required sustenance. We could, however, convert food into extra energy for ourselves, and thus we strove to keep our bellies filled as we approached our target. If they were capable of commanding two of the Stones, they were a being on the same level of Ajora was when she'd used Virgo to partner with Altima.

We dared not approach at anything less than our best.

We came across the stone holder walking towards a city the spell binding me informed me was called Dorter, late in the afternoon. I nodded to Lede and we sprinting ahead of our target through the woods, far enough ahead to have time to plan an ambush.

Our plan was a simple one: If the stocky young man were to be our master, he would no doubt be less than appreciative of our service if we slew one of his friends during the course of our challenge to him. Hence my first task in the fight would be to catch the slim blond at our target's side then render him unconscious.

The pony-tailed youth moved easily, but was no trained fighter. It would take me no time at all to put him down without killing him. Lede would only have to distract our potential master for a minute or two before I could join the fray. She could manage that much easily, so long as she fought defensively.

Then we would be on him, and then we would discover his worth.

Sitting in a tree branch above the road, we waited.

The two young men were speaking of their plans for the evening, which inn in Dorter would have rooms available and arguing between one I took to be in the slums while the other was in the business quarter.

"I'm telling you, Ramza. I've used this place before. Clean beds, decent food, and pretty serving girls. What more could you want?" One voice asked. I nodded once to my sister. They were getting close.

"A room without a leaking ceiling or a draft from gaps in the wall, Mustadio," the other voice, Ramza, replied. He continued on. "Zal always told me that if a cheap inn had good food and service, they'd cut their corners on the building. If the building was nice, the food and service would be terrible. We still have plenty of the money we looted from Rudvich, so why not treat ourselves?"

"At this point any inn is a treat!" Mustadio groaned as they passed beneath us. He would be my target. My sister and I dropped from our perch, and whatever the pony-tailed youth was about to say was cut off as my arms snaked up, my left hand securing his left arm while my right looped beneath his underarm, trapping his right arm uselessly in the air as my right hand clamped down firmly on his throat, restricting his air flow. He would soon be unconscious, and there was naught he could do about it.

Lede meanwhile, had dropped behind her target, and simply tried a sweeping kick. The instant the back of her shins touched the front of his, the stocky young man had fallen forward into a hand spring, immediately opening up space between himself and my sister.

"Mustadio!" Ramza yelled, glancing at where I was holding his friend. My current foe was slapping at my face and pulling my hair a bit, but he didn't really have the leverage to do anything but annoy me.

"Shouldn't you focus on your own foe first, Ramza?" I taunted, drawing his attention to my sister. The use of his name was deliberate, meant to inspire fear and throw his mind into disarray.

Lede closed with him and jabbed at his eyes, a feint meant to distract him, not connect. It was lightning fast, the sort of blow meant to intimidate and create space.

It was not meant to be a fatal error: Ramza caught Lede's arm at the wrist, stepping back and yanking her up off her feet as she let out a surprised squawk. I blinked at that. It should have been impossible to match my sister's speed, even for a holder of a stone. Even as her leg rose to attempt a kick, the blond boy viciously drove his other fist into her stomach twice before dropping her.

The worrying part was that she didn't get up and away from him. She just knelt in the dirt with her hands clenching her stomach, oblivious to the third punch until it had hit her in the jaw and sprawled her out, senseless.

Damn.

Mustadio was weak in my arms, but he wasn't quite unconscious yet. Ramza began to walk towards me with grim determination.

"You know I can break his neck easily, right?" I said, causing him to stop beside my sister. If I could buy a bit of time, I could attempt to fight him safely without worrying about interference from the youth slowly passing out in my arms.

"I could break her neck easily as well. You two look too similar to be unrelated, so don't bother to bluff me," Ramza noted, glancing down at Lede as he raised one foot casually. After seeing the power in his punches, I had no doubts he could follow through with his threat easily enough.

"Damn," I growled. Mustadio, mercifully, had finally gone limp. Even were he faking it, he wouldn't be in any condition to fight for a short while. I had a feeling that this fight, win or lose, would not take too long at all.

I lowered the boy to the ground, stepping away and circling to my left. After a second Ramza lowered his foot, stepping over my sister's body as he mirrored my movements. After a moment, we were clear of our unconscious allies.

"Ramza Beoulve, at your service," Ramza nodded to me once. "Might I ask why you are attacking me and my friend?"

"Celia. Do you really have to ask why?" I pondered, thinking of the stones. Surely he could sense what I was beneath my human disguise. As a stone holder, he would have had to.

"To be frank, between my family and my own recent actions you could be attacking me for any number of reasons," he admitted with a bit of a smile.

"If you win, I'll tell you," I informed him, and charged.

If he was able to render my sister senseless with three blows as he had, there was absolutely no way I could win in an outright slugging match. I would have to draw him out of place, then strike with the same attack Lede had used to defeat Marquis Elmdor.

My plan was a good one. It was a shame, then, that Ramza refused to be baited. If my attacks could be said to have moved like the wind, he was an immovable, unflinching oak tree. While I never gave him the chance to get a hand around any part of me as my sister had, this meant that he simply had to keep his eyes on me and drive me off.

One of us would have to take a risk for this fight to get anywhere.

Thankfully, Ramza decided to take the initiative. He stepped forward and lashed out with a vicious punch as he thought he'd caught me off guard. I ducked under his punch arm and lashed out, hitting one of the assassination points on his body. This one paralyzed his legs.

Two on his back were simply meant to inflict blinding, debilitating pain on the target, and Ramza obliged by screaming. Another strike to each his sides robbed him of much of his strength, sapping away his ability to funnel his chakra to his muscles. An inch up from those, two more points did the same for any magical enhancements pumping through his veins. One more on his stomach stopped his ability to heal himself with his chakra, and two sharp blows just under his bottom ribs emptied his lungs, leaving him breathless.

"Too bad, you don't win this round," I informed him. My hands lashed out for the final two points on either side of his neck.

His hands rose to grab mine, stopped them cold.

"What? I blocked your chakra, your magic!" I cried out in surprise. Ramza's arms began to spread wide, lifting me off my feet.

"Too bad I'm doing this with just my natural body strength, then," he informed me with a dark smile. I fought against him with all my strength, but it simply wasn't enough to prevent him from stretching my arms to the limit, out to my sides. Our noses were touching, and my arms simply had no leverage despite the way they shook with effort. My legs were awkwardly positioned and although I wrapped them around his torso and squeezed, trying to put pressure on his chest and crush the life out of him, it was no more effective for me than if he'd been a statue carved from metal harder than steel.

"You've got me trapped, but you can no more attack me like this than I can attack you," I grunted at him, still trying to crush his ribs with my thighs. What in the name of Altima was this youth made of?

"Is that so?" He pondered, then reared his head back and smashed his forehead into my nose, my vision flashing at the pain of it. He didn't break my nose on the first blow, but the second one did the job. The third made my arms go slack, and he dropped them to lift his hands up above his head, his fingers clasping together.

My body was level with the ground when he slammed his linked hands directly into my chest, ripping my legs free of his torso and slammed me with a muted grunt directly into the dirt at his feet. He quickly undid much of the damage my precision strikes had inflicted on him even as I struggled to move, and he knelt atop me, his legs pinning my arms to their sides as he raised a fist.

Well, that about did it.

"I yield!" I coughed out, and his descending fist stopped. He cocked his head to the side, and I continued. "This was a test. We had to see if you were a better fighter than my sister and I. If we'd meant to kill you, we could have killed your friend at the outset."

"Fair enough," Ramza reasoned, though he did not let me up. "For what purpose?"

"Service," Lede coughed. I craned my neck to see her slowly walking towards us, still clutching her stomach. She got within a few feet of our new master and dropped to her knees. "You have bested us and now we must serve you."

"I don't need a pair of servants," Ramza muttered, getting off of me. I moved next to my sister.

"You should know that you don't have a choice by now, bearer of the stone," I said, and Lede began to chant with me. Ramza's eyes widened, for he didn't recognize the language in the slightest. It would have shocked me if he had: It predated Ivalice by thousands of years, and was only spoken in our homeland.

"Altima's will be done!" Lede and I finished, the power of the spell binding us to the world twisting. Ramza, our new master, was struck by a glowing white light and my sister and I felt the bond between us and he settle into place.

It was done.

His will was ours. We could no more disobey him than we could Altima herself.

"Oh, god..." Ramza moaned, and Lede was at his side in an instant. It was strange that he was looking so ill. The contract between us now only let him know who we are, which should have been no surprise to one such as he.

"Master, is there a problem?" I asked, concerned. My existence in Ivalice was now predicated solely on his life. I had no wish to return to hell soon.

"I should think so," Ramza muttered, hands scrubbing his face as he began to pace. "Whatever ritual you just used let me know what you are. However, I think there was some confusion in all this."

"What confusion might that be, master?" Lede asked, observing the blond boy.

"I'm not a stone bearer, or whatever. I've made no contract with the Lucavi," he groaned.

"You have the stones, master. You have the potential, and there is no way you could have fought as you did without a contract," I pointed out, reasonably I thought.

"No, I fought you just using my own strength. No Lucavi contract. In fact, one of these stones I got from killing one of your Lucavi," he growled, shaking his head. "I plan to kill any more Lucavi I come across, since clearly they're up to some plan which bodes ill for anyone caught up in it. I am not your master, I am your _enemy._"

Oh, Altima damn me.

"Then slay us, master," I urged, Lede nodding her agreement. "Send us back to hell and we shall trouble you no more."

"I will not kill a helpless foe unless the reason they are helpless is the blows I've inflicted on them," Ramza grunted, frowning. "That aside, killing you would be counter-productive. Were I to do that, you could just be summoned again. That spell which formed our bond is telling me you two are no ordinary demons, so it's likely you would be summoned to this conflict once more if I release you, correct?"

I didn't want to be truthful, but the bond connecting me to Ramza would allow nothing less.

"We are the second and third to be summoned," Lede admitted, and he scowled.

"Alright," the blond youth spat, glowering at us. "Since my commands are absolute, I've got three for you right now which I expect followed at all times: First, you are not to reveal your true nature to anyone by any means, unless I give you permission. Second, you are not to harm anyone unless I give you a direct command. And third, you will not allow yourself to be killed as a means of escape from this bond. If you die, you will die fighting to the best of your ability."

Altima damn me, and him.

"Yes, master," I agreed through grit teeth. Lede nodded tersely at my side.

"Don't call me master. I have a name and I would like you to use it," Ramza stated, pausing. "We will come up with an excuse for your constant presence later."

"Yes, Ramza," I agreed, and he frowned at my sudden smile.

My sister and I could no more disobey him than we could Altima, true. However we could creatively misinterpret his commands as much as we wished, and already he had given us some leverage. 'We' will come up with an excuse for our presence?

Yes, yes we will.

Sooner or later he would grow sick of us, of the constant fighting, and then we could be released to properly serve our Lady once more.

Lede met my eyes, and I knew her thoughts as much as I knew my own: We would have to make Ramza regret his decision to leave us alive and in his service. By any means available to us.

"Still..." Lede said, smiling a bit to me. "As bad as the situation is, this is still interesting."

"Yes it is," I agreed, returning the smile.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Oh man. I had this one planned from the beginning. Murdering Celia and Lede would be the easiest route for Ramza, so of course, he's not planning to do so.


	16. Chapter 16

For Want of a War

Chapter 16: Ramza

**Quick Note: I've updated, like, three times in the last week... So skip back to Chapter 14 if haven't read the story recently.**

oOo

I had discovered a new hell, and it came packaged within two very attractive girls. Two very attractive girls who happened to be just a step below the Lucavi. Two very attractive girls who happened to be just a step below the Lucavi who my morals wouldn't allow me to kill, as they were entirely helpless before me and who would likely be summoned as my enemies if they were not allowed to remain as my allies.

I wouldn't kill them. Between my morals and simple pragmatism, I didn't dare.

No matter how much I now _wanted _to.

After my fight with the two Ultima Demons and our private conversation, I'd returned Mustadio to consciousness. I'd told Mustadio that the girls were allies and that I would explain the details to him when we arrived in Dorter. The pair hadn't said a word, and for a moment I thought all would be well.

Then Celia and Lede seemed to have a conversation with a glance, before slipping to my side and reaching up to kiss each of my cheeks simultaneously. As I blushed furiously and struggled to find words, Lede had brushed her one forelock behind an ear, turning her face away, while Celia curled her hair around one finger, blushing as brightly as I.

"After our fight, after he so thoroughly put us in our place... We belong to him now, body and soul, until the day he dies," Celia had informed Mustadio, before the pair of twins began to walk towards Dorter.

I was at a loss for words. They hadn't revealed their true identity, nor had they denied me the opportunity to come up with an explanation for their presence.

They hadn't even _lied_.

"You lucky bastard," Mustadio intoned, his eyes clearly on the walking demons. He stepped to my side, nudging me. "They were just kidding, right?"

Ajora preserve me, I couldn't even lie to Mustadio in that moment. Holding back information was one thing, but I dared not lie to a man to whom I'd trusted my life, and who'd trusted me with his life in turn. I owed him better than that, no matter the circumstances I now faced.

"It's... technically true," I admitted with a wince.

"You lucky, lucky bastard," Mustadio repeated, gaping at the pair ahead of us as he finally began to follow. After a moment, he turned to beckon me along the path with him. With the moan of a man damned, I finally put one foot in front of the other as I followed.

We'd been walking in silence for perhaps ten minutes before he finally spoke once more.

"This explanation will be good, yes?" Mustadio asked, rubbing his jaw as he glanced at me. "Ramza... I didn't get choked near to death by a pretty girl for no reason at all, did I?"

"Yes, I will explain their presence," I ground out, scrabbling my hands through my hair. I glanced at him. "It will be as truthful as possible, given what I know of them. However, you'll excuse me if I wish to save it for the inn tonight. I have a headache from headbutting Celia to near unconsciousness."

"Fair enough, Ramza," Mustadio chucked, the engineer turning his gaze forward. He grinned a bit, his vision clearly following the almost-hypnotic movement of either Celia or Lede's rear's as they walked ahead of us, thin dancer's silks the only thing between them and nudity. "Now I'll admit that I don't mind the view... But if these poor girls have truly given themselves to you, you may wish to purchase them some more appropriate attire. They might attract the wrong sort of attention otherwise."

I sighed, drawing my ponytailed friend's attention to me.

"Mustadio, I had a very difficult time subduing them," I admitted, frowning. "In fact, had Celia not been occupied with choking you unconscious, I might have lost that fight. However they choose to dress is no concern of mine. And Ajora help any poor fools that chooses to try to take advantage of them."

"Fair enough," Mustadio admitted, before his grin turned sly. "So will you be renting two inn rooms when we arrive in Dorter, or one?"

I chose not to answer, instead defaulting to the stoic Beoulve pride which had carried me so far already. Mustadio laughing at my rising blush had no bearing on my stoicism whatsoever.

Absolutely none.

oOo

In the end, Mustadio won the argument we'd be having before we'd been attacked by my newest vassals, simply due to the number of inn vacancies. The upper quarters inn we'd availed for a place of rest when we arrived in Dorter only had one room available.

The inn in the slums had three when we arrived. I purchased all three, covering even Mustadio's room in relief. It meant a reprieve from the constant flirtations of my new minions. A night to myself, in my own room, to regain my sense of calm and serenity.

"Celia, Lede," I said, handing them the key to their room. "You will sleep in this room. I will sleep in mine. In the morning, we will discuss the exact details of our future interactions at my convenience, so please be ready to discuss it at that time," I concluded with all the pomp and severity I could muster.

"Oh, Ramza..." Celia sighed, her hand going to her cheek. She gently took the key from me, before replying throatily, "You know that this shyness of yours will only make us more affectionate, right?"

"There is no affection!" I argued, scowling at her. Her sister curled into me with the same unnatural grace they'd always had, somehow leaning her back into me as she cupped my cheek and kissed my neck before I could even respond.

"Don't you dare tell us you feel nothing, Ramza," Lede countered, rubbing herself against me.

"Gah!" I concluded, throwing myself back.

The two girls retired to their room, Celia twirling the key around her index finger as she went.

"You. Lucky. Bastard," Mustadio concluded, punching me in the arm.

"I require a drink or twelve," I countered, grabbing my partner and dragging him towards the bar. He tried to protest up until I shoved a tumbler full of twelve year old Romandan tequila into his hand, mirroring the one in my own. "No man of Romanda would dare allow a man from Gallione to outdrink him at his own liquor, would he?"

Things rapidly devolved from there.

oOo

Typically, I'm not the sort of man who chooses to lay abed.

My father taught me from an early age that to be an early riser is to be successful in life. Rising early meant being early to training, and to be early to training meant being successful at your task. It had been a long time, longer than I care to remember, that I'd actually lain abed beyond the crowing of the rooster, beyond the rising of the sun through my window.

Yet a warmth cocooning me tossed my thoughts of awakening aside, as I curled into an engulfing warmth and fought off the moments of the day. The drinks I'd shared with Mustadio the previous night very likely helped.

It was well beyond the rising of the sun before I began to realize there was something amiss. As my higher mental faculties returned to my conscious mind, I recognized that the warmth surrounding me was neither the sunlight pouring in through my small window nor the thin blanket curled around me.

No, the warmth was entirely due to the twin demons who'd sandwiched me between them during the night. During my moment of weakness. As I stirred, and horror began to overcome me, Lede's eyes met mine.

"Good morning, Ramza!" She chirped, her voice nothing but good cheer. This stirred her sister behind me, who moaned into my back as she awoke. Impossibly strong, yet femininely thin arms grasped my torso as Celia clutched me closer to her, my swiftly-maddening-mind recognized as naked, chest. My consciousness brought further horror to me as I realized Lede was thoroughly naked as well. She continued, with a purr, "Is this convenient enough for you?"

"**What!?" **I yelled, immediately wishing I could silence my outcry. Shock take me, unexpected circumstances take me, but I was still a Beoulve. I was better than to be taken in by a surprise attack. "Get dressed and be gone from my room, now!"

Naturally, as the Ultima Demons in human form were slipping back into their feeble garments, Mustadio chose to respond to my outraged cries from not moments before, throwing open the door and sweeping the room with his deadly weapon primed to end any fight any of my potential foes might have wanted to start.

As the two barely dressed assassins slipped back into their clothes, obscuring their nakedness, I had no words to defend myself as Mustadio's concern quickly transformed into outright laughter, his response only enhanced as Celia and Lede played the perfect part of the embarrassed maidens as they filed out of the room.

After a moment, Mustadio gestured to me.

"Did you really-" He began, before I cut him off.

"No. No," I repeated, frowning at my friend. "They must have sneaked their way into my room this morning."

"See, that's how I know you're a madman," Mustadio informed me with a chuckle, shaking his head. "There are very few men I knew back home who could resist themselves with that pair throwing themselves at him, and all of them are married, or at least promised to be so. Do you simply hate women, Ramza?"

I hissed in irritation, throwing my blankets aside to stand.

And noticed, only then, that I was naked.

Mustadio's laughter began anew, and I chose to stoically ignore it as I strode to where the pair had placed my pants on the dresser, putting them on without a word.

Clever girls.

"If only you knew what I know about them," I finally grunted, Mustadio's mirth finally leaving his face at the statement.

"What, does whatever culture which produced them require them to kill you afterwards?" Mustadio demanded, spreading his arms. "Will they kill any other woman you dare lay eyes on if you consummate your bond with them? Barring those, I can't think of any reason to say no to that pair, my friend."

"Yes, it is something to do with where they're from. No, I can't divulge that yet," I admitted, pulling my shirt over my head. As I poked my head through the top, I continued, "It's not like they're a threat. Any objection I have to the way they're acting is entirely based on the fact they're doing this to make me uncomfortable."

Mustadio nodded along with me for a moment, his face serious, before his serious demeanor cracked and he began laughing.

"Sure it is, Ramza," he finally spat out amidst chuckles, ignoring the way I scowled at him. He threw his hands up defensively, grinning at me. "I'll take you at your word, my friend. If you say nothing happened, nothing happened. You do realize I'm not going to let up on the jests, however?"

"I think I hate you a little right now, Mustadio," I informed my traveling partner glumly.

"I shall bear it with the stoic pride you've shown me as a Beoulve, since you appear to not be using it right now," Mustadio told me, his chest swelling as he turned up his nose, a gross parody of many of the nobles I'd known at Igros. He cracked open one eye at me. "Shall we go get breakfast?"

"Breakfast would be welcome," I admitted, stomach gurgling.

oOo

Breakfast was a subdued affair, up until the girls chose to grace us at the table. They immediately flanked me, leaning against me as they nibbled at their food. Mustadio managed to keep the laughter from his face, though from the way he occasionally coughed as he ate his food I could tell it was a near thing. When his plate was empty, Celia chose that moment to lean up and nip my earlobe, and the boy did laugh a bit as he stood.

"I think I'll go grab seconds," Mustadio choked out, trying to sound casual and failing utterly at the task. Lede waved to him while Celia nuzzled my neck.

"I'll have you know that whatever you're planning, I won't succumb," I informed the pair at either side of me, biting into a piece of crispy bacon. I swallowed before continuing, "I am Ramza Beoulve. You will not force me to break, no matter how you act."

"We are thousands of years old," Celia informed me, her mouth breathing warmly into my ear. "We will force you to release us, or perhaps even join us before the year is through."

"Is that so?" I asked, calmly sipping the pewter mug of milk in front of me. I turned to face her. "I suggest you prepare yourself for disappointment, then. The only course I will ever follow is my own. Shallow feminine wiles will not be enough to change that."

"I think he actually believes it, sister," Lede chuckled, nuzzling herself into my back.

"That's adorable," Celia noted, cupping her jaw with one hand and grinning. She reached out with her free hand to wipe the milk off of my upper lip, before bringing it to her mouth and gently licking it. "Let's see how long this will of yours will last, then."

"Longer than you could possibly believe," I grunted, turning back to my breakfast.

"What's longer than I could possibly believe?" Mustadio asked, sitting back down at the table with a fresh plate.

"Do not answer that," I growled at the two girls, who simply chuckled before returning to their own food.

Ajora help me, I wouldn't kill them.

I wouldn't.

No matter how much I _wanted_ to.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Celia and Lede were always meant to be a more lighthearted take on the seductive promises of the Lucavi stones as I had in Purity Amidst Madness. Right now because Ramza is uncomfortable with their appearance, they've chosen it as a method of attack. They know he's a hormonal teenager who also has a heavy duty and a great deal of honour. They can gleefully throw themselves at him with abandon because they know he'll always say no.

Either he falls for them and starts to follow their path, or he gets frustrated and finally releases them back to hell. Either way, they win.

His only other option is to just endure it. Enduringly.

Poor, poor bastard.

Also, I needed to write some harem antics in, and this was an appropriate place.

Cheers,

-Gaming Ikari


	17. Chapter 17

For Want of a War

Chapter 17: Delita

oOo

Miluda's sword rushed towards my shield and I stepped back just before it was due to connect, easily deflecting the swing and putting the woman off balance as I brought my practice blade to bear. Her shield was slow to rise thanks to my deception, and the wood sword in my hand slammed into her neck before she could block it.

"Well, I think that's enough for today," Wiegraf intoned, and I stepped back from my opponent, bowing to her in respect. It was a gesture she returned as her gauntlet-clad hand rose to massage her throat. The holy swordsman stepped onto the practice field at Igros, running his eyes over me critically. "I never would have thought you could come this far so quickly, Delita. My sister is a veteran, almost as good with a blade as I. You're a snot-nosed, noble-raised runt of a teenager, and now you fight on the same level as she."

"I'll admit that under you I've flourished, Master Wiegraf" I accepted with a broad grin at his light-hearted insult. Despite the peace forged a year ago, he still held his prejudices, though I accepted the insults with the warmth hidden underneath. I began to undo the straps on my armour, eager to be free of the weight.

After Ramza had been abducted by the crazy monk teacher in Gariland, and after a month of casual conversation with Miluda while she was stationed in the local garrison, Wiegraf Folles himself deigned to show up and speak with me. I'd been surprised to learn I had the rare spark which would allow me to follow the path of a holy swordsman, yet at the same time pleasantly pleased.

Though I would never voice such resentment to any but myself, there was a small part of me which envied the casual ease with which my best friend seemed to master every art related to combat. Despite that, it had always been a sore point for him that no matter the fact his father and his brothers were potent swordsmen, commanding magic through their blade with an ease not seen in many others, for Ramza could never fight as they did.

He lacked the same spark I apparently possessed.

Of course, Ramza being Ramza, he had instead thrown himself headlong into any training he could find, hoping to close the gulf between himself and his family through nothing more than intelligent tactics, common skills, and sheer stubborn willpower.

Yet I could wield those skills denied to him, were someone to show me how. Wiegraf had agreed to teach me those skills, in principal, but only if I could best his sister in personal combat first. She lacked the spark he had, and a small part of me dreaded the thought of trying to fight the 50 Year War veteran.

It was a greater surprise to myself than anyone else to learn that I was one of the top-level knight candidates at Gariland, though I suppose I should have seen it coming in retrospect. My most common sparring partner was Ramza while we were at Gariland, and during our vacation time at Igros I'd spent my mornings being thrashed by Ramza, his brothers, the veteran elites which comprised Igros castle's guardsmen, or terrifyingly enough, occasionally Balbanes himself.

Given that I was a commoner the other Gariland students flatly refused to spar with, my constant losses to Ramza, his family, and the armsmen at Igros had me convinced that I was, if not a terrible swordsman, woefully inadequate as far as actual combat was concerned. It had never really occurred to me that while I was scraping the bottom of the barrel at god-given talent in swordplay for those willing to fight me, I was fighting men and women who were very likely in the top percentile of swordplay in Ivalice.

Wiegraf had overseen the first fight and while I did lose to Miluda eventually, there were moments where I'd outright dominated the fight, my opponent only regaining control through experience, better tactics, and some outright dirty fighting.

When Wiegraf informed me I would be judged again in a month, I'd been sorely tempted to simply ask Ramza's family for training. If I'd revealed to Balbanes that I was able to use the same skills as he, I know he would have grinned and then began to teach me the same skills he had. Balbanes Beoulve and Cidolfus Orlandeau were easily the two most powerful men of the elite group of which I found myself suddenly capable of joining, and yet I didn't request training from Balbanes for a simple reason.

Wiegraf Folles had been at the heart of a movement which had damn near torn Ivalice apart. As much as I might have improved even more as a warrior under Balbanes' tutelage than I had under Wiegraf's, the part of my mind which paid attention to politics told me that getting in with Wiegraf would do more good than harm, in the long run.

It helped that I wouldn't be put in the awkward position of asking Ramza's family for training my friend could never undergo himself. I don't know how I could have even begun to have that conversation with Balbanes and the topic would have only been a hundred times more awkward if I'd had to have it with Zalbag or Dycedarg.

Not to mention I wasn't quite sure how I could possibly face up to my best friend when he returned if I'd gone that route.

Wiegraf nodded to me once, slapping a hand on my shoulder.

"You're growing into a fine holy swordsman, Delita," my teacher noted, before frowning to himself. "I've taught you the basics, but beyond that you must master these skills for yourself. Each holy swordsman is different. Some only learn the basics, others might walk a more specialized route, while a few like Lord Balbanes have learned to master every branch. Figuring out what works for you is something only you can figure out."

"Thank you," I stated, offering a hand to the man who'd overlooked my training. He reached further, his hand gripping my forearm for a moment which left me in confusion for a moment, before I grasped his forearm in return.

"Thank yourself," Wiegraf told me, grinning as he clasped my forearm. "You trained with me. You fought with me and my sister. Whatever I've given you is just something I'm passing on from what my master gave to me. If you really are thankful, keep an eye out for others with the potential and guide them as I've guided you."

"I shall," I agreed, bowing to him.

Miluda smiled shyly at me, and I bowed to her as well.

"Lady Miluda, thank you for what you've done for me as well," I said, prompting her to blush a little bit, taken aback. "Perhaps I'm a match for you, now. However, you were instrumental to me getting to where I am now. Thank you very much."

"It was of no consequence. Commoners must stick together, yes?" She replied, and I grinned at her at that.

"Obviously. Even if Balbanes stopped an overt revolution for the common man that doesn't mean we can't affect change from within, covertly," I noted, and Wiegraf's eyes widened at that. Come to it, Miluda openly gasped, covering her mouth.

"I dare not risk sedition, not after we've achieved peace," Wiegraf warned, and his hand actually went to his sword at that.

"Not sedition," I explained, raising my hands. I tilted my head to the man. "Merely an eventual transition. I don't plot to overthrow the king, may he live forever," the last was said with a bit of sarcasm, which Wiegraf acknowledged with a frown. "Rather I'd prefer to influence the nobility subtly. Paying your wages after the Fifty Year War was just a step. What if next, the nobility allowed commoners with enough funds to do business on equal footing with noble merchants?"

"You wish for me to start a trading company?" Wiegraf scoffed, and I shook my head.

"You? Of course not. Some poor bastard now sitting on thousands of gil from fighting in the Fifty Year War who can only retire with that money? Absolutely," I concluded, frowning a bit. "He's earned that money through blood and sweat. Why shouldn't he be allowed to trade and travel as a noble does?"

At that, both of my training partners were silent.

"Sure, the system works. However, have no doubts that it could stand a few improvements," I concluded, folding my arms.

Eventually, Wiegraf nodded.

"You may have a point, there. Do you truly believe you can actually change things?" My master demanded, frowning. He spread his hands, taking in the training yard. "You're no more noble than us, and you have no leverage on any noble."

"Is that so? Who's my best friend?" I posed to my teacher, and he frowned. I smirked and answered. "My best friend is Ramza Beoulve, and Balbanes Beoulve is the closest thing I've had to a father since mine died to a plague over a decade ago. I think I might be able to influence things, if perhaps just a bit."

Wiegraf let out a long sigh.

"Perhaps you will," my teacher finally admitted, nodding to me. "I'll hold my gil in reserve and influence my friends to do the same, then. Perhaps one day we'll all be able to do more with it than purchase fine wines and liquors at exorbitant prices."

"I shall do the same," Miluda promised me, smiling.

"Deal struck," I stated, my attention wandering as a sight by Igros' front gate caught my attention. Although three of the distant blurs did nothing to capture my attention, even at this distance I could recognize the sight of my best friend's bowl cut and ponytail. "Now, if you'll excuse me..."

Before either of my new allies could respond, I was moving to the gate.

I hadn't seen him in almost a year.

oOo

When I'd finally intercepted Ramza, I could barely recognize him. Oh, true... he had the hair. Even his face wasn't much changed from the man I'd known a year ago. However, below his neck it seemed to me that someone had decapitated my friend and replaced his body with that of a circus strongman's. Where once my shoulders had been broader than his as a result of our different frames, his now dwarfed mine completely.

His arms were not quite as large around as my legs, but determining the difference would have taken a tailor's tape. His chest was broad and flat, every shift or turn he made a promise of violence, and his legs were so large it looked as if he'd somehow stuffed greaves down the snug trousers he wore.

I'd known men as large at Gariland but it was shocking to see my friend as large as they. They had not intimidated me as much with simple steps as my friend did now: Despite the vastness of his frame, he moved with the sort of grace only the deadliest warriors I'd ever met possessed.

So Tristana hadn't killed him, and she'd actually been successful at training him. Huh. Charity owed me twenty gil.

"Delita!" Ramza greeted me, grabbing me in an enthusiastic hug which caused my ribs to creak. Ajora he was strong! "How have things been?"

"Never mind me, what of you?" I countered stepping back and gesturing to his filled-out frame. "What has Tristana been feeding you to get you this large?"

"Tristana?" My friend asked, before his face went absolutely white. "Oh, Ajora preserve me, Tristana."

"What's this about Tristana?" A slight, pony-tailed young man asked from my friend's side. One of his traveling companions, who I hadn't really paid attention to in my excitement. His clothing was nondescript to the point of deliberateness, and had it not been for the strange device at his side I might not have paid him any attention were I to pass him on the street.

"How could I have possibly forgetten about Tristana!?" Ramza demanded, clenching his head. "She's going to kill me!"

His pony-tailed companion paused for a moment, confusion clear on his face, before he burst out laughing, clenching his belly as he fought for words whilst pointing at my friend.

"You do get hit in the head quite a lot," a sultry voice chimed in, and I finally noticed Ramza's other two traveling companions.

Immediately, I wondered how I could have possibly missed them in the first place. The pair of women were clearly sisters, if not twins, and they were absolutely, positively drop-dead gorgeous. The dancer's silks they wore only enhanced and accentuated their lithe bodies, and a small part of me wondered what two women of this caliber could possibly be traveling with my friend for.

"To be fair, Lede, he's normally not an idiot. Perhaps we've been more of a distraction for our dear Ramza than he's been willing to admit, since that night the both of us shared his bed?" The other of the two beauties chimed in her arm sliding up her sister's back and gently caressing it.

"Oh, there has to be a story behind this," I grinned, turning to my friend. Ramza's eyes were pinched shut and one of his massive hands was squeezing the bridge of his nose, frustration clear on his face.

"Thanks Celia, Lede. That was helpful," Ramza ground out, barely suppressed anger warring with sarcasm. He shot them a glare. "If you would kindly not embarrass me in front of my friend, that would be great. In fact, please do be quiet."

"As you command," both girls chimed in unison, before shutting their mouths and stepping back pointedly.

"A very good story, I take it?" I ventured to my friend as I took in their natural, perhaps even unnatural obeisance, and he winced.

"It's a more serious tale than you might think," Ramza grunted sourly, tilting his head. "In fact, I need to speak with my father immediately. I would appreciate it if you accompanied me, as I have a feeling I'll be involving you before long regardless."

"What are friends for?" I countered with a shrug and a smile, prompting a brief grin from the bastard Beoulve.

"I knew I could count on you," he told me, nodding once before he continued on along the path to Igros Castle proper.

I allowed myself to drop back, waving once to the silently smirking girls closely following my friend before falling into step with the pony-tailed youth.

"So, has this been as funny as I'm imagining it to be?" I asked quietly, prompting the other man to just cover his mouth for a moment as he nodded, chuckles escaping him despite his best efforts to the contrary. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. Delita Hyral," I introduced mysef.

"Mustadio Bunanza," the laughing man snorted out, offering me a hand which I shook briefly. "I've only known Ramza for a short while, but I owe him a debt. The fact his life appears to be a constant play for my amusement is just a bonus."

"Oh?" I prompted, quirking an eyebrow at Mustadio. "Most people wouldn't dare say such about a Beoulve, even a bastard such as Ramza."

"I imagine spending a few weeks saving one another from death has eroded any awe I might have had for his name," my companion admitted, flipping his ponytail over his shoulder. Canny eyes smirked at the flat look on my face. "Don't act like you don't find this as amusing as I do. I can tell you're just holding it all back a little better than I do."

I allowed myself to grin at that.

"Don't get me wrong, I agree. It's just that most don't realize that Ramza Beoulve is partially here in Ivalice to entertain," I agreed.

"I can hear you both and I think I dislike you both quite a lot right now," Ramza growled from in front of us, not turning to look at myself or Mustadio. His back was rigid as he stalked forward, and when one of the two women following him tried to rub his shoulder and both Mustadio and I laughed, he quickened his pace.

"I think we're going to get along fantastically," Mustadio informed me, bumping my shoulder with his as he ignored my friend's anger.

Fighting back a grin, I couldn't help but agree.

oOo

Author's Notes:

So that's what Delita was up to in the time since Ramza got kidnapped.

And oh hey, guess who're best friends now.

-Gaming Ikari


	18. Chapter 18

For Want of a War

Chapter 18: Ramza

oOo

My mind was filled with turmoil as I made my way through Igros, to where my father's study lay. I couldn't even begin to imagine how I would broach the conversation about what I'd faced in Cardinal Draclau's chambers. How I could speak about the Ultima demons I found myself bound to? How could I possibly begin to explain?

I ignored Mustadio and Delita's lighthearted jests behind me, not really finding it within myself to rise to the bait. At any other time, I would have let myself get drawn into the cheerful argument my oldest friend and my newest wanted to begin, if only for the distraction. However, I could ill-afford to waste my attention on that right now.

After a few moments both of them went somberly quiet, recognizing my mood. All the while, Celia and Lede followed at my heels, moving unnaturally in unison.

My father was a stalwart defender of what could be called "good and right", if anything well and truly could be called definitively good in this world. Even Larg looked to my father for guidance and I have no doubts that without him there to guide things to a peaceful resolution, Wiegraf and his troops would have found a far costlier and bloodier resolution to their complaints with the nobility than had been provided to them.

I was going to him for answers, not to provide an explanation. I couldn't begin to process how I would hunt down the remaining holy stones. It seemed to me to be a task far too large, far too complex for me to grasp. My father, veteran fighter, general, and politician that he was... He could help me.

He could break this enormity down to the discrete steps we would need to take to resolve this issue.

I nodded to the two Hokuten elite guarding the door to my father's estate, taking the wave through they gave me for granted as I escorted my companions inside. Though strictly speaking military doctrine required them to search us for weapons and ensure my father's safety, the reality was that the pair were a formality at worst, and a slight bit of leverage at best: Anything my father couldn't handle was something they were in no way equipped to deal with.

I'd always wondered if they felt honoured or annoyed by that. Honoured that they were considered fit to guard my father, or annoyed that they were superfluous. I banished the idle speculation, stepping through the door and finding my father at his desk.

His eyes turned up from his book to find mine, and my father smiled at me. Then his back went stiff and I learned for the first time what so many people knew: Why my father is so feared. The instant his eyes were upon my companions, they hardened.

I was no longer greeting my father.

I was facing _Balbanes Beoulve._

His sword flew out from the sheath at his side, the flat catching the desk and hurling it in our direction. Delita grabbed Mustadio and dragged him to our left, while I hurled myself to the right of the flying furniture, sensing more than hearing Celia and Lede flank me.

Behind us the door broke but did not shatter as the desk lodged itself there, acting as a formidable barricade. The commotion caused the knights outside to begin to hammer at the door, but a quick glance told me they had little chance of interfering.

Balbane's blue eyes flashed with the cold promise of violence as I found his with mine, and I tensed as his sword flashed up and down, impossibly quick, in my direction.

Ice formed above us.

Stasis Sword.

I spun quickly, shoving Celia and Lede aside as I prepared myself to receive the attack of the strongest swordsman in our country, the ice already hurling down upon me with speed most of my father's peers could only dream of attaining. I braced my legs and caught the bottom of the deadly shard of frozen water with my left hand. It was only thanks to my training that I was able to slow it enough to shatter the ice with a punch from my right hand, an instant after my left hand touched it. This broke my knuckles and turned the attack which could have been lethal into a damaging, but not debilitating attack.

"Have you gone insane!?" Delita demanded, putting himself between Balbanes and myself as the older warrior launched towards me, feet barely touching the ground as he sped forward. Though my dark-haired friend set himself and displayed swordsmanship I'd have never expected from him as he sought to gainsay his foe, he was swatted aside by the flat of Balbanes' blade with barely a pause, tumbling across the ground with a pain-filled cry.

Mustadio's gun barked once and Balbanes simply paused his charge for an instant, the broad side of Defender rising to deflect the projectile harmlessly. I closed the distance in that instant of distraction, my chakra flaring in a visible corona of energy as I forced it into my arms, further enhancing my speed. I was not aiming for power and destruction, as I had when facing Draclau's bloated form...

I was simply aiming for speed. More speed than I've ever used for any attack.

Balbanes blocked them all with quick, economical movements of his broad-bladed sword, not a single punch reaching him despite my best efforts to the contrary. Still, the sheer force of my blows forced him back, his boots ruining the carpet underneath as he knocked over a side table, books spilling at his feet.

Seeing our hesitation, he grimly began to circle us.

"Ramza, please tell me that your father isn't a Lucavi," Mustadio groaned, though I noted he was still reloading his gun as he did so. "Draclau was one thing, but I really don't think we can take Balbanes Beoulve even without one of those stones helping him."

With that, we were no longer facing Balbanes. My father peered at me curiously, head tilting.

"Me? I would have thought it was you who were possessed. Those two wenches with you are simply radiating demonic energy," my father scowled, before a grin blossomed on his face. "Besides, I never thought you'd be able to stand up to me fighting like that, not on your own. What was I supposed to think after you caught my Stasis Sword when a year ago you couldn't even fight Zalbag when he was handicapping himself?"

"Tristana," I finally coughed out with a laugh, sinking to my knees as the exhaustion of just a few moments of fighting my father finally overcame the adrenaline coursing through my veins. At his raised eyebrow, I explained, "She has some very interesting ideas concerning what is and is not acceptable training."

"I should say so!" My father agreed with a laugh, sheathing his blade. At my back, I could sense the palpable tension of my two unwanted companions as they returned to cover my back. I found it hard to blame them given just how quick my father had been to draw his blade, and how fast he'd been able to go on the attack. Sheathing his blade was no real indication of peaceful intent, and was at best a ruse to put us at ease.

He'd already demonstrated that he was as dangerous with his sword strapped to his side as he was with it in hand, for it could be there in the blink of an eye.

"Be silent!" My father finally called to the knights pounding on the door, and at his shout they stilled. "What passed was simply a small family disagreement, now solved. Send for a carpenter to repair the door and resume your post!"

With that, he appeared to banish the thought of anything but the occupants of the room at the moment as he turned to face us.

"I always knew there was something special about you, son," my father chortled, scratching his beard as he strode back to his chair and sat down. He took in my filled out form, and nodded once. "I'd daresay you might just be able to defeat Zalbag in a duel, and you'd present Dycedarg with no small amount of difficulty were you and he to stand face to face."

"Thank you," I murmured, nodding in acknowledgement.

"Ow," Delita groaned from my left. I turned to find my oldest friend pulling himself to his feet, smiling weakly at my father. "I thought I'd made real progress this last year, but I guess I still have a lot more room to grow."

"Don't be too harsh on yourself, Delita," my father said kindly, smiling at him. "You've always been more suited to thought than action, which is no shame to you. That I actually had to strike you out of my way with my blade as I did speaks well of your progress. I would have simply bowled you over had you not been in a position to threaten me as you did.

"In fact, I should thank you and Ramza's ponytailed friend here," my father noted, nodding to Mustadio who was still gaping at the rapid change in mood. "It speaks well of you both that you so readily jumped to Ramza's defense, even in the face of, well... Me. It does my heart good to know that my son has such stalwart companions."

"I've faced worst at his side," Mustadio grumbled, twirling his weapon once on his forefinger before slipping it smoothly back into the sheath on his leg. He allowed a relieved grin to show on his face. "However, I will admit that I acted without thinking. It was only after you deflected my shot that I began to even process the consequences of my actions, Sir Beoulve."

"Balbanes," my father corrected sternly, his eyes glancing to Delita as well at that. "Any man who stands before me and lives to tell the tale gets to use my first name, and you boys have earned that right. Let no one correct you on that."

"Very well, Balbanes," Delita offered, his face twisting a bit as he said my father's name. I couldn't imagine it being anything but strange to him after so long being caught in the gulf between adopted child and deferential commoner. He raised his hand, almost as if we were back at Gariland and he was asking an instructor a question. "What's all this talk of demons? The scriptures say that they are bound in the depths of hell, sealed by Ajora's sacrifice."

"Of course we are," Celia snorted, and that caused Mustadio to turn to me with a slightly betrayed look, which I chose to address rather than the rapidly growing confusion on Delita's face.

"Ramza, why would you keep that from me?" He grunted with a frown, the engineer crossing his arms. "It's not like I didn't know of Cardinal Draclau's true identity or lacked knowledge of the stones. There's no reason to have hidden this from me."

"I..." I began, trying to remember precisely why I'd kept the truth from my friend. To the best of my recollection I knew I'd had a reason to do so, but at that moment whatever reason it had been escaped me completely. I frowned. "I suppose I really do get struck in the head a lot."

"We told you, Ramza," Lede chimed in, and I scowled at her.

"Perhaps they did have a point all along," Mustadio allowed, tilting his head and fighting a grin which threatened to sprawl across his face. "I do seem to recall that as early as our first battle at Zigolas swamp, you were using your skull as a weapon instead of as protection for the valuable material underneath."

"Perhaps he doesn't value it?" Delita offered with a grin and a shrug, walking over to where his sword had been knocked from his hands by my father, inspecting the magical blade briefly before returning it to his sheath. "It would actually explain quite a bit about my friend here."

"Of that I have no doubt," Mustadio opined, and I groaned.

"Ajora damn me, I'm going to regret the pair of you meeting," I muttered, grinding the heel of my hand into my forehead.

"There, there, my lord," Lede said in a comforting tone, her hand gently rubbing my back. At my glare as she spoke her appellation for me, she smirked a bit. "It occurred to my sister and myself that we know dozens of languages, with more than one word for master. We're more than willing to exhaust them all upon you."

"Go ahead and just call me master then, if you must," I grunted, catching a flash of surprise on the demon's face. I grinned at her at this. "I don't begrudge you your freedom, nor will I seek to entrap you in a web of commands even you pair would be hard-pressed to remember. You've made your point. You will call me master whether or not I wish you to call me such."

At this, both of the Ultima demons grinned in victory. I grinned in turn, and my good cheer quashed theirs.

"You forget who I am. Limiting your vocabulary does nothing to limit your influence on me. Nor does allowing you infinite access to your knowledge grant you more influence on me," I challenged, and the look in my eyes caused Mustadio to flinch as I faced my two prisoners. "Do as you please to try to tempt me. Aside from the first three commands I gave you, consider yourself free of my orders, now and in the future. I am beyond caring about your petty motives as of now."

"We've tempted men far more powerful, far more influential than you," Celia hissed at me, Lede nodding at her side.

"Perhaps," I allowed, my eyes not wavering as I met theirs. "You'll have plenty of time to attempt and fail to prove me wrong as I set myself to foiling your true master's plot. I'll foil Altima's plans no matter what, I swear that by Ajora," I concluded.

Even my father was impressed by my declaration.

I didn't expect confusion from my bound demons, even as it registered clear on their faces.

"Why do you all continually swear to oppose Altima while also praising Ajora?" Celia questioned, folding her arms as she began to pace. "You do know that the two are practically the same person, yes?"

I dropped to my knees at this, and the reactions of my companions were similarly inelegant. Even my father, as well known for his stoicism as he was, displayed visible shock at the proclamation.

"Tell me you're lying," I grunted, my mind whirling.

"We can't lie to you, master," Celia informed me.

Well.

Ajora... Altima...

...God damn me.

Staring at my compatriots, I couldn't help but pray.

God.

Please help us sinful children of Ivalice.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Plot and such! Grah!

Needed to be done, folks. Needed to be done.

-Gaming Ikari


	19. Chapter 19

For Want of a War

Chapter 19: Ramza

oOo

My mind was still reeling from the revelation of my demonic compatriots. Even as my faith fought against the facts presented before me, my reason told me that Celia and Lede could not lie to me. It simply did not exist within their nature to deceive me thanks to the contract we shared.

That meant everything the Glabados church stood for was a bald-faced lie.

"What do you mean, they're the same person?" Delita demanded, frowning at the pair of blond assassins. "If Altima is supposed to be the devil, how can God's own son Ajora be the same person? It makes no sense!"

"Ajora a son?" Celia chuckled, finger tracing her jaw. "You don't even know that Ajora was a woman? Altima damn you, you people are ignorant."

I couldn't even begin to process that.

"That would make sense," Mustadio confirmed, and I turned to face him incredulously. He shrugged his shoulders, explaining, "Technology has been on the decline since the events which lead to the formation of the Glabados church twelve hundred years ago. The Disciples of Fara were notoriously sexist, thinking that women were inferior to men for some reason. It would make sense that Ajora would hide her gender in that time, if she was truly a woman."

"While we were not summoned to that particular conflict, that would match with our memories of this country during that time," Lede acknowledged.

"That still doesn't explain why you referred to Altima and Ajora as the same person," Delita growled, beginning to pace my father's battle-scarred study. He tilted his head, sudden clarity there. "Did she happen to find a holy stone at a very young age? The scriptures say she performed miracles even as a babe. Was that the source of it?"

"Nothing so fantastical. The holy stones only react to a strong desire," Celia snorted, crossing her arms. "Most of the early tales of Ajora's miracles were crafted after she began her rebellion against the Ydoran Empire, a cover to explain her use of the stones to the masses."

"Then why?" I pressed, wondering.

"Ajora and Altima... Resonated, for lack of a better term," Lede informed us, her eyes turning to look to the ceiling as her mind wandered. "For most of the holders of a holy stone, compatibility is enough. Their minds and their goals align, and that allows the Lucavi to bless the holder of the stone with their power and subsequently manifest themselves in the world for brief periods of time. For most, that is enough."

"I gather that wasn't the case with Altima?" Mustadio asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Not at all. Altima's power is far greater than other Lucavi, and far harder to control," Celia mused, tilting her head and smiling as she took in the pony-tailed engineer. "The difference between whoever held any other holy stone once they were possessed and someone who could merge with Altima would be as vast as the difference between a newborn babe and this man," she finished gesturing towards my father.

I felt a chill down my spine at the statement, and judging by the drawn looks on my friend's faces, I wasn't the only one. Even my father quirked an eyebrow at the statement, his back stiffening as he felt his pride pricked.

"That's impossible," I stated, disbelieving.

"Not at all," Celia informed me, quirking one corner of her lips up as she took in the look on my face. "The tidal wave which wiped out Murond Temple the first time was Ajora's final blow against the Faran religion. She knew she was dead, knew that there was a vast army surrounding her. So rather than die quietly or simply lash out against the ones who didn't matter, she focused Altima's powers so that she would take out the last holdouts of the Fara leadership. As I understand things, it was a relatively simple matter for the rest of the Lucavi-possessed stone holders and the rebels they led to seize control of the country from that point."

I sat down heavily, and after a moment I felt a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it gently. I glanced up to find Lede poised over me.

"We did have to tell you that your religion and beliefs were a lie, master," the demon informed me, a cruel smirk on her lips even as she made a mock attempt at comforting me. "We must tell you the truth, both explicitly and by avoiding omissions. Neither my sister nor myself can lie to you. Altima strives to return, and there is a vessel which can accept her. While she has accepted defeat at times, there has never been one who could match her in direct combat."

"Damn it," I shouted, slamming my fist into the ground, frustration prompting me to lose control. It's not often that one is presented with the irrefutable truth of a coming apocalypse. The last time Ajora was alive, the major religion at the time was wiped out and the ruling families slaughtered. I found Celia's eyes, despair running through me. "Once Altima arrives we cannot win, can we?"

The smile on her face told me there wasn't, and she licked her lips before moving to speak.

And froze.

"Yes, you can," Lede informed me, her face shocked as she spoke those words. Both hands rose to her mouth as if to attempt to put the spoken blasphemy back in her mouth, and her eyes grew wild at the statement as she turned to face her sister. "I want to say no, but I can't. Can you?"

"No ," Celia finally said, her face going white at the statement. "I can't say that once Altima is summoned to this world, Ramza's defeat is a foregone conclusion. I'm trying to, but I can't!"

There was a shocked silence for a moment, before Delita's eyes narrowed and he grinned.

"You said Ramza's defeat. Not Balbanes' defeat," my dusky friend noted, crossing his arms. He turned from the pair of demonic assassins to me, and his dark eyes searched mine for something I couldn't provide as his mind wandered. "Why is Ramza a threat to Altima's return if his father is not?"

"I don't have to answer you," Celia spat, anger giving colour to her face after the shock of her statement had turned her white.

"Then why am I a threat to Altima?" I prompted, levering myself to my feet. "Why do you consider me the true threat to her return when a man who could slaughter us all if he had the will is right next to us all?"

"I don't know," Celia finally whispered, her eyes boring into mine. Beyond the shock, I found something far more terrifying as her eyes met mine: Naked, undisguised interest. She flicked a hand negligently in my father's direction. "Intellectually I know that this man is the strongest in the room. Yet some fact I cannot recall tells me he is not the threat to her return that you are, master."

"Sounds like my son," my father snorted with a broad grin, rising with a shrug as he made his way towards me. "God knows he's been turning my world upside down since the day he was born. Given the fact he's my son, why should the rest of the world expect him to do any less to them?"

I nearly stumbled back to my knees from the force of his hand slapping my back.

"Thanks, ladies," my father offered, and both of my demonic compatriots frowned at the statement. He quirked an eyebrow at their confusion, a broad grin finding its way across his face. "You've served your new master well. It doesn't matter how he'll find victory: So long as it's possible, I know he will."

Celia's face was bone white, now. I smirked a bit, seeing the destination of my father's logic.

"Tactical knowledge of the greatest threat to an enemy is a greater treasure than you can imagine," I informed the demonic twins, reveling in their sudden confusion. I tilted my head, my smirk broadening into a wide grin. "Now that we know I'm the threat to Altima, we can infer that I possess some characteristic which threatens other Lucavi. If that's true... I can kill them. I promise I will."

"We deliver a miniscule possibility that you might survive the coming storm if you should fight to the bitter end, and this is cause for celebration?" Lede grumbled, shaking her head. "Typical mortal insanity."

"You say that as if we have any choice but to cling to it," Delita noted, his face thoughtful at the proclamation. "You can tell me that Ramza will fail all you like, but I've known him far longer than you have: Ramza simply does not fail when it matters, and I can think of no better time for the stakes to matter than now."

"I'll have to concur with my new friend's observations," Mustadio chimed in with a grin, throwing an arm around Delita's shoulder. "I don't really know about Lucavi or what have you, but what I do know is I've seen Ramza rip a holy stone out of one of them and he was more annoyed than anything else about the exchange when the Lucavi exploded. He could have continued fighting if ripping the stone out had failed."

My two demonic companions were stunned, and at their look I could help but frown.

"Mustadio, I'll not have you downplay your aid during the battle. You were a significant help to me," I informed the engineer, and he chuckled a bit.

"Ramza... Modesty suits you, but not in this case I should think," Mustadio replied, scratching his jaw. "I seem to recall being stunned to the point of immobility when Draclau first transformed and my contributions to the fight were, ultimately, little more help than the knights who watched as you did all the work. I'd bet that you would have emerged victorious even without me there."

"Perhaps I could have, but you made it far easier," I admitted to him with a smile. He accepted that with a nod.

"Oh? You actually slew a Lucavi essentially by yourself?" Celia noted, her face flushing a bit as she reconsidered me. Lede approached her side and turned to wrap her arms around her sister, resting her head on Celia's shoulder. "Master, your forcefulness continues to impress."

"Are they..?" My father began, and Mustadio just laughed.

"They've been at it since they joined us," my blond friend noted, fighting back giggles.

"Son, I know they are extraordinarily tempting, but if I might suggest that you refrain from-" My father began.

"It would help my sanity a great deal were you to not finish that sentence," I pleaded, interrupting him.

"-thinking about this situation overmuch," the silver-haired devil who'd sired me continued after my interruption, as if that had been the end destination of his statement in the first place. Based on the grin he flashed me in the face of my embarrassed glare, we both knew it was not. "Now, as much of a diversion as this has all been, I think it would be better were you and your new friend here," at this he gestured to Mustadio, before continuing, "were to give myself and Delita the full details of your fight with Cardinal Draclau and the events which lead to it."

That was more than fair. After the doorway was cleared, we moved ourselves to a sitting room where Mustadio and I each told of the events which lead to me bringing two Ultima demons into my father's study.

oOo

It was many hours later before we dispersed, long after the sun had set. I would have sought Alma to greet her, but learned from the servants I knew that she'd retired a long time ago. I would have to delay our reunion until the next morning.

I was fine with that. It would give me time to calm my mind before I had to speak with her. While my father had insisted that our conspiracy to keep Ivalice safe be kept from any but a select few individuals, I couldn't help but feel that it was wrong of me to plot to keep this information from her.

I hoped some sleep in my own bed would help firm my resolve in the matter. However, sleep would have to wait.

Even after my confession, my mind reeled with the enormity of my task. Paying little heed to my wanderings except to avoid other people, I found that my feet had carried me to the practice grounds of Igros.

That didn't surprise me. Aside from my room and a garden near a ruined fountain Alma liked, it was the place I'd spent most of my time.

Delita's presence did surprise me, my friend somehow having found the time to change from his practice armour into breeches and a loose tunic. He was perched on the wall overlooking the dirt and gravel practice area, a bottle of liquor grasped loosely in one hand.

"Ramza, come join me!" He called. I perched myself next to him, accepting the bottle and taking a gulp. As I coughed at the foul, inelegant liquid I'd swallowed, he laughed. "The finest stock from the inn down the road. I have a feeling that at thirty gil, I probably overpaid."

"Ajora that's foul," I choked out, before pausing, my mood turning somber as I handed my best friend the bottle. "I keep forgetting..."

"To be fair, today has been quite the revelation," Delita mused, taking a sip from the bottle and wiping a droplet from his jaw before it dropped onto his tunic. After a moment of reflection, he turned to meet my eyes directly. "You do know I'm with you to the end, yes? Whatever comes, I'm at your side."

"Thanks," I said, smiling. He returned the smile for a moment, before handing me the bottle. This time my sip was more measured. Certainly it was poorer vintage than I was used to consuming, but it wasn't terrible. I sighed, handing him the bottle. "I was almost certain you would be, but given the truth of everything I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you'd decided it was beyond you."

"Ramza, this is absolutely beyond me," my dusky friend commented bluntly, taking a harsh chug of the bottle. He thrust it back to me, only continuing once the drink was in my hand. His grin was distant, nostalgic. "However, I do remember the little madman who charged a Cuar attacking my sister with nothing more than a tree branch on the first day he'd met her. I seem to recall another little madman following in his footsteps flinging rocks as well. It'd be a poor repayment of all your family's done for me if I decided that this latest bout of madness you've involved me in was the final straw."

"I'd almost forgotten that," I chuckled, taking another sip. I pointed the bottle at him accusingly. "Yet despite knowing that my sister is insane, you always sided with her whenever she had some plot up her sleeve. No matter how many times we got in trouble for them."

He snatched the bottle from my hands, draining another measure before grinning at me.

"Of course I did," Delita grinned, tossing the bottle to me in an underhand throw. I caught it easily, noting that there was only a touch left. I finished it easily. "I might have reconsidered if I were the one brought front and centre for causing trouble, but that was always your role in her schemes."

"I'm glad you'll be around to let me take the blame for this newest bout of insanity," I threw out sarcastically, levering myself up and off the wall.

"Look on the bright side, Ramza," my dark haired friend pointed out, quirking and eyebrow. "By letting you take credit for it, perhaps in a thousand years bastard nobles will be using your name as an oath instead of Ajora's."

"I knew there was a reason I put up with all of it," I allowed, resting the empty bottle on the wall. No doubt some archer the next day would make use of it during their morning drills.

Delita and I headed back to Igros in companionable silence, though the contents of our conversation had lifted a considerable weight from my shoulders.

oOo

I wish I could say I was surprised by the presence of Celia and Lede in my bed, but I wasn't.

They'd accompanied me into Igros, so the servants knew they were my companions. I'm sure a few polite questions had seen them to where they presently occupied my place of rest, and I couldn't quite fight down the growl of frustration in my throat.

"Care to join us, master?" Celia prompted, her voice pouting.

I scanned my room, noting the only clothes I'd seen the pair wear folded over the chair next to my desk.

Even without the liquor Delita had provided to me, I was more than ready for sleep. With that added into the equation, I was well and truly done.

I stomped over to my dressing chest, jerking open the top drawer and withdrawing two long sleeping gowns. A small part of me took some satisfaction in the confused looks on their faces as I flung them onto the bed, jerking the chair out from my desk as I worked to remove my boots.

"Is this your way of ordering us to wear these, master?" Celia prompted, and I chuckled.

"This is my way of saying that if you intend to share my bed this night, you will do so dressed appropriately," I responded, wiggling my toes as they were free of my boots for the first time in nearly a day. I grabbed the bowl of water from my desk, ignoring the coldness of the water as I rinsed the sweat of travel from my feet. I removed my tunic and began to rinse my torso as well, shivering at the chill. "I won't order you to not sleep in my bed. As I said, I'm through with trying to control you with petty orders. However, if I should find that you're sleeping in my bed in the nude, understand that I will shove you to the stone floor and refuse you re-entry until you're appropriately garbed."

I paused for a moment, before continuing, "You can attempt to find other lodgings for the night, but most of our servants are already asleep so they won't be able to open a guest room for you. By all means, feel free to bed another man in this castle: I promise I won't feel jealousy. Pity for the poor bastard perhaps, but not jealousy."

When I was finished preparing myself for bed, the shirts I'd tossed onto the bed were gone, and both Celia and Lede no longer had bare shoulders poking above my blankets.

"I thank you for warming my bed for me," I said, throwing the blankets back and diving in between the two, my torso facedown as I clenched a down-filled pillow to me. Lede quickly pulled the blanket back, and I smirked. "Any attempts to seduce me will likewise get you kicked out of my bed. Enjoy the warmth or enjoy wandering."

Despite the events of the day, it was my first peaceful night of sleep since the two Ultima demons had sworn their service to me.

oOo

Author's Notes:

Woo, plot!

I always felt Delita became the bastard he did because of the events of FFT Chapter 1. Without that, he's Ramza's best friend through and through.

Also, more Celia and Lede antics because why not? Ramza needs to gain the upper hand sometime in order for the story to progress instead of stagnating.

The biggest irony here, I feel, is that I talked a big game in March about how I wouldn't be picking up a PS4 or Xbox One, and how that would fuel my writing. Instead, I did in fact pick up a PS4 but I find myself writing anyway.

That's love, guys. Also boredom. Launch titles suck. :../

-Gaming Ikari


	20. Chapter 20

For Want of a War

Chapter 20: Lede

**Quick Note: I updated about a day ago, so make sure you've read Chapter 19 before reading this. Cheers!**

oOo

"Master, what did you do with our silks?" I hissed, following the mortal through the castle. Presently I was wearing an old blue tunic of his with breeches and boots, my sister wearing a similar outfit in red. While not uncomfortable, I would have preferred the silks I'd grown accustomed to in this body.

"You two were sleeping fairly soundly, so when I got up this morning I sent them for cleaning with my own clothes," he explained, shrugging a bit. "That you'll be more modestly attired for when I meet up with my sister later today is just a pleasant bonus."

"Our outfits were magical creations. Just like a magic weapon, they don't need to be cleaned!" Celia protested, crossing her arms as she glared at him. "You're of noble stock. You should know that!"

"I do," Ramza admitted with a bit of a chuckle. "It was just an excuse to have you pair properly attired for once."

"Petty spite is beneath you," I informed him bluntly, and he glanced back at me at that.

"Of course it is," the young man agreed, tilting his head a bit. "However, as you've chosen to use it as our latest battleground, I find myself with no other choice but to battle you on your terms."

I glanced at my sister as Ramza turned to once more focus on the path ahead of him, and she shot me an amused look in turn. Petty spite was good. It was a sign that whatever he might say about his resolve, the constant pressure we'd been applying was beginning to be a strain on him.

That was good.

It meant that we were making progress. It meant that sneaking into his bed, the constant flirtation, taking every opportunity to embarrass him, it was all starting to get under his skin in a way he could no longer completely ignore. Sooner or later, he would get completely sick of it all and his reactions would grow more and more severe.

Sooner or later he would release us, if only to be rid of the constant irritation.

Eventually, we reached our destination, a practice field near the castle. A low stone wall surrounded hard-packed pebbles and dirt, and in the middle several men were sparring with wooden blades. Ramza's attention was immediately drawn to a man with close-cropped blond hair and a goatee, clad in ornate black armour trimmed with silver.

"Zalbag!" Ramza called, waving as he approached.

The man turned, grinning as he saw our master. He reached down and grabbed a pair of fingerless gloves from where they were sprawled on the stone wall, curiously long with overlapping silver plates running from the back of the hand to near the elbow. As soon as Ramza came close enough, the gloves were thrown.

"Welcome back, little brother," Zalbag said with a broad smile, folding his arms as Ramza caught the gloves. "Enjoy those. They were meant to be a birthday gift, but Tristana's capture of you was far longer than anticipated."

"Indeed it was," Ramza agreed. Our master rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, tugging the gloves on, the new leather creaking as he made a fist. He glanced up. "They're a little tight."

"I suppose I underestimated your size. To be fair, you were a man when you left, and you returned to us an ox," the older man grunted. He then smirked a bit. "Would you care to test them out? Father mentioned this morning that you'd grown strong enough that he wasn't sure if I would win in a fight. Shall we see if he's right?"

"Angel Rings, first death?" Ramza prompted eagerly, to my surprise. Our master had never been so... Eager before. He blinked, glancing once at us. "Actually, wait a moment. I have to confirm something first."

"Father told me about you'd picked up strays," our master's older brother noted, taking us in with a grin. "He didn't quite mention the details of your arrangement, and he certainly neglected to tell me the quality of the ladies you've managed to enrapture. I think I'm jealous, little brother."

"Don't be," Ramza stated bluntly, rolling his eyes and cutting me off as I began to speak. "They're more trouble than you can imagine. However, if you'll excuse me for a moment?"

"Take your time," Zalbag said, gesturing before turning back to face the practice field.

Ramza motioned for us to follow him, and he stopped only a short distance away, just out of earshot.

"I know that our bond would be broken were you to die," Ramza informed us, frowning. "However, I'm given to wondering what happens if I die and am revived before crystallization occurs. Would that be enough to sever the bond?"

"...No, I it won't," Celia admitted after a moment's thought. "The bond doesn't disappear unless the stone holder's stone does, and that only happens after they are killed while bonded body and soul with their Lucavi."

"Excellent. That's all I needed to hear," Ramza informed us, turning back to his brother. "Brother! As I was saying, Angel Rings to the first death?"

"Someone has grown exceedingly confident," Zalbag retorted with a smile, before nodding. "Of course, I'll be happy to take you down a notch or two. I'll be back shortly with the rings."

"Master, this is foolish," I informed him with a scowl, folding my arms. "Your brother may be strong, but just yesterday we learned that you slew a Lucavi, essentially on your own. Do you really think he can match you as you are now?"

"He's second in command of the Hokuten, directly under my father," my master explained simply, fingers flexing and relaxing with nervous energy. "He oversees the movements of about ten thousand Hokuten personally, and liaises with generals in charge of another thirty thousand. During a time of war he can call up another fifty thousand in off-duty reserve troops before he has to resort to conscription or mercenaries... And he is, without a doubt, one of the best fighters among them."

There wasn't much I could say to that, though Celia watched our master with an interest matched in my own eyes. Thus far, we'd seen Ramza fight from an ambush once, defeating Celia in what had been a fairly close fight. His exchange with his father, Balbanes, had been a brief exchange.

We had yet to see him fight at his full capacity as observers.

This would be the best time to figure out his strengths... And his weaknesses.

oOo

It was not long after that Zalbag returned to the field, bearing his sword, shield, and a pair of rings which he and our master slipped on. After a breath or two, each of the Beoulve men had a wispy image of an angel circling their heads, a spell which would revive them from death if they perished.

As the pair moved onto the field, everyone present immediately dispersed, leaving the two brothers alone in the hard packed circle of sand and pebbles.

"The last time we fought, I didn't have to use my skills as an Ark Knight until the very end," Zalbag called to our Master, unsheathing his blade and resting it on his shoulder. He smirked, and met Ramza's eyes. "I don't think I can be so gentle this time!"

In response Ramza slashed his hand once, sending a flurry of sand and stone at his foe. Zalbag simply raised his shield, ignoring attack. Only centuries of experience allowed me to see the younger Beoulve darting behind the debris, using it as a screen to hide his movement.

His brother anticipated this, and had set himself accordingly. When Ramza struck, Zalbag's sword was there, and only a quick swipe of his arms and the vambraces his brother had given him not moments before prevented the fight's premature end. Zalbag slammed his shield into his brother, opening the distance necessary for another sword swing.

Rather than fight him at midrange, Ramza faded back a step, the blade missing his throat by the breadth of a hair before he was back in, taking advantage of his foe's momentary imbalance. Zalbag raised his shield, predicting the path of his brother's attack with ease.

Ramza's lead hand slammed into the shield palm first, and he used the leverage to dart his feet forward just enough to brace himself properly as his other hand came forward in a powerful swing, impacting the shield and sending the elder Beoulve stumbling back. Before he could follow up, Zalbag brought his sword across in a horizontal slash, forcing Ramza to step back once more.

"Desk, flabby," our master noted, prompting a fierce scowl from his brother.

"Experience will still trump the day, little brother!" Zalbag replied, stepping forward and swinging. Ramza easily dodged this, once more attempting to dart in while his foe was recovering. Unfortunately for him, his elder brother had planned for this and rather than halting the momentum of his swing he spun with it, the elbow of his sword arm rising to meet Ramza's nose as he sidestepped our master's punch.

Even many yards away as I was, I heard the crunch of Ramza's nose breaking and he tumbled into the dirt for a moment, forced to roll away from a follow up swing which would have caught him directly in the chest.

"You've got dust on your backside," Zalbag noted with a grin, and Ramza frowned in turn, wiping the stream of blood running down his face on his gloves.

And then the two were at it once more, Ramza darting in and out of range of his brother with a graceful ease that was astonishing to behold. Celia had told me of her fight with Ramza, but from the description she'd given me I'd assumed he had just outlasted her with his freakish stamina. Even catching my first feint before he hammered me down into oblivion was something I'd attributed to carelessness on my part, not skill on his.

How wrong I was. Ramza's skill alone was arguably on the same level as my sister and I. It's very easy to see how my sister could have come so close to vanquishing him as she had... He simply hadn't been prepared for our esoteric assassination techniques. His skill at dodging, his ability to read the flow of a fight, it was beyond compare. Time and again he would back off just enough for the blade seeking him to skim his skin before he was once more in close, constantly forcing his brother to step back and circle to avoid being overwhelmed.

Even though he was taking frequent shallow cuts from his brother, the few blows he was able to strike cleanly were powerful things, blasting Zalbag back steps, leaving him reeling and scrambling to recover.

"He's not using his skills," Mustadio noted, and I turned to see the engineer watching the fight curiously. I'd felt him approach, of course, but hadn't dared to turn away from the display in front of me.

"He can't. Neither of them can," Celia provided, shaking her head at the engineer. "They're both so focused on hammering each other down that they're not providing each other any space, any breathing room."

"Perhaps they don't dare? I don't know about Lord Zalbag, but some of Ramza's techniques tend to be rather overwhelming," Mustadio mused, his eyes tracking the fight. "I'm sure Lord Zalbag's are the same. If either of them are able to use them, it'd surely be an end to the fight."

Interesting. For someone who frequently claimed to be a noncombatant, his observation was a keen one. The distinction he'd made would have been lost on a talentless amateur.

In front of us, the fight seemed to be coming to a conclusion. Both Ramza and Zalbag were panting hard, our master bleeding from myriad cuts and his older brother stumbling from the occasional, bone-shaking blows he'd suffered. They both stumbled back from one another, grinning broadly.

"Marvelous! Tristana really did exceed everything she promised with you, little brother," Zalbag praised, shifting his grip on his blade as he slid a foot out, preparing to charge. Ramza didn't respond, simply beginning a sprint forwards, once more using his monk arts to send a torrent of stone and sand to obscure the vision of his foe.

When the dust settled, I saw Zalbag's sword impaled straight through Ramza's lower torso, the younger Beoulve gasping in surprise. Taking no chances our master's foe ripped his blade free through his side, showering the ground beneath the pair with blood, the force of the move putting his back to his younger brother.

Ramza grinned, and struck his brother twice in the back, Zalbag's muscles locking as he screamed in pain. Ignoring the way the rapid movement further injured him, Ramza quickly moved around to face his brother, striking him high in the sides twice on each side, something I knew would rob Zalbag of any magical or chakra granted strength.

Ramza opted to skip the single point in my sister and I's assassination technique, instead simply burying both fists into the space just below Zalbag's ribs, robbing him of his breath. Unlike my sister's attempt against him, he struck with finality at the final two points on either side of his brother's neck, killing him instantly.

This seemed to rob him of the last of his strength, and he expired a moment later.

"You'll catch flies like that, ladies," Mustadio pointed out, and it was only then that I realized my jaw was dropped. So was my sister's.

"You didn't..." Celia began, her eyes wide as she turned to face me.

"No!" I confirmed, shocked by the events I'd just witnessed.

I'd known Ramza could win. That was not surprising in the least. What was surprising was that he'd apparently recreated an assassination technique which had taken my sister decades to perfect after he'd been struck by an incomplete form of it just once.

That was impossible. Mortals had avoided the attack before. They'd even survived it, due to an excessively formidable constitution or ridiculously strong magical enchantment. Never before had anyone duplicated it, certainly not with such ease.

As my master and his brother slowly climbed back to their feet, the enchantment granted to them from their rings returning them to life, all I could do was stare at the blond fighter to which I and my sister were bound.

"Sister, I do believe that our master may be a little too interesting," Celia noted to me, troubled.

I couldn't help but agree.

oOo

Author's Notes:

If the numbers for the Hokuten seem high, it's based on the numbers cited for the deaths during the war in the game. Anyhoo, just wanted to drop some more story stuff for you all.

Hope you enjoyed it!

-Gaming Ikari


	21. Chapter 21

For Want of a War

Chapter 21: Ramza

oOo

Although I'd finished my fight with Zalbag, my body was not without aches and pains. Despite the magic of the Angel Ring I'd been wearing restoring me to life and despite the potions I'd consumed afterwards, a phantom echo from being run through remained.

Even if the damage was gone, it was hard to forget the feeling of something sliding right through one's torso before being ripped out the side, and even now I was still a little uncertain on my feet. I could only content myself with the knowledge that my older brother would no doubt be feeling the pain from whatever I'd done to his body.

I hadn't allowed Celia to complete the move on myself, though it shared many principles with killing strikes Tristana had taught me. A monk's knowledge of how to fight barehanded was rooted in a deep understanding of just how a man or woman was put together beneath the skin, and the secret fist branch of it was focused on killing strikes.

It was why monks made good assassins: A few blows disguised as regular attacks and my foe would be dead in moments, never knowing the moment was coming even as they used healing magic to counteract the superficial bruises my strikes had left.

At each side of me my unwanted companions propped me up, escorting me to a much-needed bath before I was due to meet with Alma. On my left, Lede's grip on my arm tightened, and the normally seductive demon was actually glaring at me.

"Master, how in the world did you perform those strikes?" She finally demanded. I frowned a bit.

"It's actually so simple I'm surprised nobody's ever figured it out before now," I replied with a grunt. At her raised eyebrow, I continued. "Your assassination skill isn't much different from mine. Much more effective, of course, but not so different at all."

"May we ask how you drew that conclusion?" Celia chimed in from my right. I turned my head to her, noting the worried frown as she gnawed her lower lip a bit.

"I'm not sure if you're aware, but most monks learn a similar skill. We simply strike in slightly different places in a different order, but to the same result: We injure organs and rupture arteries, leaving our foes to die from within soon afterward," I explained, waving my right hand for emphasis. "Your strikes cause the foe to die immediately. Mine would normally leave my target a handful of breaths before they expire."

"And where would you strike?" Celia pressed. Given that the demons attached to me had a superior killing technique, I didn't see the harm in a demonstration. I lightly began to poke my finger at various points on Celia's body. "Jab. Jab. Pinch the nerve cluster. Palm strike to the diaphragm. Double punch to the left kidney and liver. Simultaneous chops here and here.

"Not that much different from your strikes. Just a little off base if we were to use your technique as the standard against which mine is judged," I concluded with a shrug. "My own master taught me what it feels like to die using our method as part of my training. Yours felt much worse, so of course I stole it from you."

"I should blast you into shreds for that. Do you have any idea how long it took us to learn that? You'd be an old man by the time you learned, if you'd been forced to learn the way we did," Lede noted with a scowl.

"Sure, hit me with magic. I'd probably steal that, too," I countered with a grin, pulling my arm free of her hands as we reached the baths. I opened the door, half stepping inside before turning back to the duo of hellspawn behind me. "I shouldn't be long. Feel free to have a bath yourselves."

With that I slipped into the room, shutting the door behind me with a sigh as I reflected on my upcoming meeting with my sister. Normally the occasion would be cause for celebration: Alma and I had not seen nor had word from one another in a year. I was... anxious to see her again.

That feeling was tempered by the knowledge of how she'd react to my newest companions. I had a suspicion that it would not be a good first impression, especially since I'd spent the night at Igros already. Gossip tended to move throughout most places faster than rats could spread a plague, and I suspected more than a few of the maids had noted where Celia and Lede had spent the night.

On the whole, I was not looking forward to seeing my sister.

Sinking into the bath, I wondered if perhaps Zal was up for another fight instead.

oOo

It was no surprise to me that when a servant passed me word of where Alma was waiting for me, it would be at her favourite reading spot. The place in question was a trio of benches to the north of the castle proper, next to which was the aqueduct which emerged from the castle. The aqueduct itself was a feat of engineering, featuring a sort of fountain as a centrepiece. The quiet rush of the water in the background was relaxing, and the pair of us had spent many a summer day doing nothing but reading books

As I approached the bench where Alma was seated with Delita, Mustadio, and Teta I wondered if, perhaps, my suspicions had been over thought. It was likely that escaping Celia and Lede's attention before arriving had been a good plan. As I drew closer, my friend gestured to me and my sister rose, waving enthusiastically before I was within speaking distance.

It was then that I saw the ice in her eyes and knew that the coming conversation was going to be no fun at all. The last time she'd had that sort of ice in her eyes, she'd maneuvered me into gravely injuring Merissa's escort at the ball celebrating the prevention of civil war.

"Brother!" For all the cheer in her voice, my sister's eyes didn't warm up even a little. She stepping in to give me a hug, which I returned for a moment before she stepped back. There was the smirk, the one she had whenever she was closing in on prey. "So I hear you have the most interesting companions... Would you care to tell me about them?"

Ajora damn me. My father and I agreed that knowledge of the holy stones and the Lucavi was to be kept only to those who already knew or needed to know. Frankly speaking, my younger sister didn't need to know, no matter how much I felt like she deserved to know.

That meant I had no reasonable explanation for why Celia and Lede were following me around that would absolve me of the sins my sister presumed I was committing.

"Celia and Lede?" I asked, feigning confusion. From the way my sister frowned at me and the tapping of her foot, she didn't buy it for a moment. I sighed, gesturing to Mustadio. "I'm not sure if Mustadio explained, but they're a pair of warriors from a very far off land," and at this Mustadio choked a bit. Perhaps it was a bit of an understatement, I'll grant. "They have some strange customs. I came into possession of a trinket on which they place great value, and they fought me for its return. When I defeated them, they swore themselves in service to me. It's all been quite troublesome."

That, I thought, was a perfect explanation. It was not, technically speaking, a lie. It utterly downplayed the extent of their bond with me.

"Deception doesn't suit you, Ramza. What's this about them promising themselves to you, body and soul?" My sister asked, raising one slender eyebrow as her foot continued to tap.

I'd been _betrayed _by Mustadio. My eyes travelled from my sister's to find the young man, who was glancing aside and doing his best not to meet my gaze. At his side, Delita patted him on the shoulder and flashed me an amused grin.

"I'll give him this, Ramza. He didn't even realize he was saying something he shouldn't until it had escaped his mouth," my oldest, best friend told me with a chuckle. "You know how Alma is. She had him wrapped around her pinky finger before the poor boy knew what was happening."

"Ramza, you never warned me your sister was a mediator," the blond engineer grumbled, still not meeting my gaze.

"She's not, yet. She's just manipulative," I muttered in commiseration. I couldn't find it within myself to blame Mustadio. Not really.

Alma had apparently decided that I was derailing the conversation, for she slammed a booted heel on my instep, prompting a yelp. "Damn it, Alma!"

"Explain," my sister pressed, one finger pointed about an inch from my nose.

"Look, it really is like I said," I informed her with a scowl, fighting the urge to lift my foot and rub it. Damn but she could stomp hard, for all that she was a slip of a girl and hadn't really had any true combat training beyond the basics. "The two are a moderate annoyance most of the time, and a major annoyance the rest of the time. It's some cultural thing for them: I qualified to challenge them so they ambushed Mustadio and I, and because I won they're literally going to follow me to the death."

"Oh? Is that all they are?" My sister asked, still frowning. She cocked her head to one side, measuring me for a moment before speaking once more. "And what is this I hear about you sharing your bed with them? Strange that you'd consider them an annoyance for that."

"Part of why they're a major annoyance," I growled, my face going bright red at the insinuation. At her brother's side, Teta was blushing as well... Likely because of the impropriety of my sister bringing up this topic in public. Since I had no choice in the matter, I pressed on. "Yes, they sneak into my bed. I don't like it and would prefer it if they didn't."

"Sure you would," Alma sniffed, turning her back on me. "Why not simply release them from their oath?"

"Alma, the only way to release them from their oath is to kill them," I said with a frown. She turned back to me at that, suddenly more serious. "I wish I was jesting, but it's the truth. They will follow me for the rest of their lives and have already offered to let me just kill them. They're serious about this."

"Of course we are," Lede chimed in, and I turned to see the pair sauntering towards us. The damnable demons had somehow managed to find their dancer's silks and were once more garbed in their usual attire. They stopped well short of us, opting instead to have a seat on a nearby bench.

"Ramza will either fall to our charms or kill us. Those are the only two outcomes of all this," Celia added, serenely propping her chin on one hand, elbow balanced carefully on her knee as she brushed an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "My kind do not swear ourselves lightly to anyone. We've got the resolve to see this through to the end, whatever end that may be."

"You'll be waiting a while then," Teta said softly, and I quirked my head at that. I knew someone was going to say something in response, but I'd assumed it would have been Alma. Her voice grew more fierce as she continued, "Ramza hasn't ever done anything but what he decided he would do. You think your resolve is stronger than his? That's laughable."

My jaw dropped at that. Teta was not an outspoken girl. Normally she was shy and withdrawn to a fault, content to drift along with a conversation. At her side, Delita's eyes widened before he turned and shot a quick glare at me, like this was somehow my fault.

"Oh? Strong words from a little girl," Celia taunted, opening her mouth to speak more before I cut her off.

"Please, be quiet. Teta is an old friend, one who knows me well. Besides, I've said as much to you myself," I noted to them narrowing my eyes. "I've sworn that you will neither charm me nor force me to kill you. We're stuck with one another, and that's all there is to it."

"Not letting us play, Master? How boring," Lede pouted, before standing and walking away. After a moment, Celia followed.

"Those two..." I grunted with a scowl.

"Well handled, brother," Alma praised, the warmth in her voice genuine for the first time in the conversation. I turned to find her grinning at me, no trace of her earlier irritation. She extended her hand, as if we hadn't been fighting not moments ago. "Shall we go to the western gardens? I've asked for them to prepare lunch for us there. I'm sure after your fight with Zalbag this morning you're rather famished."

I allowed her to take my arm with a confused grunt, allowing her to lead me away from the garden. Delita drew even with me, bumping me with his shoulder to get my attention as Mustadio engaged Teta in conversation.

"Make Teta cry, and I'll make you cry," he whispered lightly, and I frowned at him in confusion.

"What?" I whispered back, utterly bewildered.

"We'll discuss this later," he muttered back, falling back to offer his sister his arm.

I allowed Delita to pull ahead a bit, pacing myself so I was walking parallel with Mustadio.

"Did any of that make any sense whatsoever to you, Mustadio?" I asked the blond Romandan in a quiet voice.

"Very little," my newest friend agreed with a perplexed look. He frowned a bit. "Why are you asking me? I fix windmills and play with ancient technology. I'm not exactly a people person, Ramza."

At my side, Alma giggled.

Previous experience told me that was never a good sign.

oOo

Author's Notes:

First off, big thanks to Tovath for the help with this chapter. I got some solid feedback which helped make this chapter just a little bit better than I could have done on my own, so send your thanks that way.

Second, expect another update in a week or two. Maybe sooner, but hopefully not later.

For the observant, yes, Alma's favourite spot is indeed the same place where Zalbag tells Ramza, Delita, and Algus a little bit about the Death Corps in Chapter 1 of FFT.

-Gaming Ikari


End file.
